The Bastard from the Bush: An Australian Life

by Jarratt, John

  I was on the swing at Tennis Wharf at the bottom of our hill, singing ‘Mary Channel Tree’ over and over. When Zadia was two she sang this song she’d made up, on the swing, over and over. She could talk fluently at two, she was and is a stunning person inside and out. She is an absolutely divine creature with an extraordinary future in front of her. At four she was our referee. The peacemaker between her fractured mother and father, not good, not good at all.

  I fucking blew it, I was always going to blow it; I had the right heart, but I was an emotional desert with no life skills. It took me another twenty-five years to grow up, to learn how to live.

  The rebound

  I continued to operate like a zombie. I worked around the island because I needed the money. I went to a concert put on by the Island Players at the Tennis Wharf community hall. My cousin Larry was in it; he now lived on the island, he still lives there at Elvina Bay. Larry could have been in the biz but he wisely chose not to. He’s a very funny man.

  I enjoyed the show. I sat at a table with a few mates, among whom was Carol. I first saw Carol on the ferry about three years earlier. We had a chat, I found her pleasant. My brother and I put a set of front stairs on her house. I got to know her from that. I got along with her well, and I found her easy to converse with. It turns out she was born on 5 August 1953, exactly one year after me. I believe in the broad strokes of the zodiac, I’ve easily spotted a number of Leos, so there must be something in it. Carol and I were very much alike in many ways.

  I walked Carol home. She was single, I was single, why not? I felt uncomfortable, ill at ease. It was awkward. I stayed the night but very little happened. We said our goodbyes and she made it clear her door was open if I wanted to come back. I walked home with mixed feelings. I thought, It’s all too much too soon. I hadn’t gone to the concert to pick up, I’d gone because I wanted company.

  Two nights later I was back at Carol’s door. I needed comfort. It was a classic rebound relationship, and I was there for all the wrong reasons. Her house was already built, so I didn’t have to do anything. She encouraged us to go away on weekends and have fun camping or visiting friends – all the stuff I should have been doing with Rosa but had stopped doing when we became pregnant with Zadia.

  I got a film called The Naked Country, made in Charters Towers. The film was directed by Tim Burstall and starred John Stanton, Rebecca Gilling, Tommy Lewis and me. It was a dreadful film. It was about the local blackfellas fighting the greedy landowner, and there were spears flying everywhere. I had a good time: Charters Towers is an interesting town, Townsville wasn’t that far away. Max, Nial and their kids and wives came on set for a couple of days. All good.

  Another good thing to come out of the film is the following story. They used people from Mornington Island to play the tribe in the film, and they gave Neville a line to say. From Never Never experience Tom got the production office to set up a camp just outside of town. Carol and I camped there too. Neville’s line was, ‘You whitefella bring bullock to my land, no good.’ And then he throws his spear. Neville was so excited about it he went and got drunk at a pub the night before. Tom and I found him and took him back to camp. It was late and Neville decided to practise his line very loudly.

  ‘You whitefella bullock bring…Fuck. You bullock bring whitefella…fuck. You bullock…fuck.’

  Hector was a big tribal bloke about 6 foot 4. He didn’t like Neville waking him. ‘Shut up, Neville, or I come up there and give you a flogging!’

  ‘Fuck you, Hector, I’m acting.’

  Aunty was in charge of the group and when she spoke they took notice, so peace was restored. The next day we travelled to set in a bus, about fourteen blackfellas and us two whitefellas. Neville was still trying to get his line right and blowing it, over and over.

  Hector got angry. ‘You shut your fuckin’ mouth, Neville.’

  ‘That’s it, that’s it, stop the fuckin’ bus, I’ll give you a floggin’, Hector.’

  I jumped up and brought some calm to the proceedings. I sat next to Neville and helped him with his line.

  ‘Forget about the line, Neville. Get this picture in your head, try to see this whitefella bringing a bullock on your land and think, This is no good. Have you got that picture?’

  ‘Yeah, I got him.’

  ‘Okay, think of that picture and say the line at the same time.’

  ‘You whitefella bring bullock on my land, no good.’

  ‘You got it!’

  ‘I got it, I got it. “You whitefella bring bullock on my land, no good”, I got it.’

  ‘Yeah, acting is about how you feel, you have to feel I hate that white bastard.’

  ‘I hate that white bastard, I hate him!’

  We arrived on set and were standing around the catering truck having coffee. John Stanton arrived, got out of the car and went straight to his caravan.

  Neville yelled out, ‘I hate you, John Stanton, you white cunt!’

  This stopped Stanton in his tracks.

  I called out, ‘It’s all right, John, Neville’s just getting into his part.’

  Stanton shook his head and went to the caravan.

  I shot my bit, I got killed by a spear. I was sitting under a rock ledge watching the next scene. Big wide shot: the tribe is on the left of frame and John Stanton rides into the right of frame. Neville had his spear held back behind his head, cocked into his woomera (spear thrower). He yelled his line with great anger, ‘You whitefella come on my land with bullock, no good!’ Perfect. Then Neville threw his spear! Now, he’s a tribal man – he threw that spear over 100 metres. It missed Stanton by a metre. John was pale grey and speechless with shock. The director yells, ‘Cuuut! Why did you throw that fucking spear? You could have killed him!’

  ‘It says I throw the spear, so I threw the fuckin’ spear…’

  ‘You could have killed him!’

  ‘I wouldn’t kill him, I’m not stupid blackfella, I miss him by that much,’ spreading his arms to show the measurement.

  ‘Bullshit! You could have killed him.’

  Neville lost it. ‘You want me to kill him, gimme the fuckin’ spear, I kill him, I’ll kill the bastard.’

  I was under the rock hanging onto my guts in stitches, it was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen. I believe Neville: he knew what he was doing with that spear.

  Not much else to report on that film; it didn’t do it for me, I’m afraid. The day we left for the Townsville airport was interesting. The plane didn’t fly until later in the afternoon, so we went into town to kill time. I was walking through a mall and saw a little kid throw­ing a tantrum, and his mother trying to bring him under control. His father walked over and belted the kid in the side of the head. Without even blinking, I belted the father in the side of the head and sent him sprawling. The gutless bastard lay on the ground looking at me with surprised eyes.

  ‘How do you like it, shithead? Get up and have a go.’

  He just lay there.

  ‘Gutless bastard.’

  It stopped the kid’s tantrum. I said to the mother, ‘Get him out of here and get that dickhead out of your life.’

  I felt the hit on the kid’s head as if I’d copped it. I immediately regressed thirty years to when my old man had hit me. Lucky it wasn’t him; he would have got up.

  It was now November 1984. Carol’s daughter Amber was five, the same age as Zadia. I thought it’d be great for us to go up to the Kyogle property for a holiday. Cliff and John Ley had converted a cowshed into a self-sufficient living space. Just as we were about to leave, I got a letter from Rosa.

  The letter was heartfelt and very moving. All things considered, she wanted to come home and try again with me. She said she loved me and missed me. For Zadia’s sake she really wanted it to work out. She hoped in her heart that I’d feel the same.

  I was over the moon. I thought I’d lost her forever and now I was in a quandary about Carol. I look back with remorse over my actions at that time. I loved Rosa
deeply and that overshadowed all else.

  I didn’t know what to do. I thought I’d have the holiday with Carol and give her the bad news later. At least finish on a high note.

  Carol was a very bright, astute woman. She knew something was up. We got to the property, she got out of the car and walked up to me and asked me to tell her what was going on. I knew she was onto me and when she fronted me, my body language gave it away. I told her I was going back to Rosa. She got in the car and drove straight back out. I hitchhiked to Casino and caught the plane back to Sydney.

  Back in an instant

  Rosa didn’t want to live on Scotland Island. She never wanted to go there again. She found a downstairs duplex on the Pittwater at Palm Beach. I bought her a 1963 Mercedes to get around in. Again, I’m the idealistic idiot. I thought she’d receive my love with open arms and find a field of flowers to tiptoe through. Of course she didn’t. I was still working and living in our house on the island and that didn’t sit well either, so I moved in to the Palm Beach flat.

  I had to woo her back and I wasn’t prepared for that. Our emotions were on a knife edge because of what had gone down. I don’t think either of us were prepared for that. How naive we were. If it happened now, I’d expect it, I’d be ready for it and I’d understand it could take months or years to overcome. Rosa and I had arguments, that wasn’t new – we’d put that down to being an Irishman and a Sicilian. That’s how the parents of my generation behaved too, so it seemed natural. We didn’t know you could learn to approach differences in a much more diplomatic way.

  Rosa and I hung in there. We were both trying hard. After about a month, things got calmer for a while and we managed to get closer. We started making future plans and we had a few weeks of relative calm. Then we clashed about something, I can’t remember what. The next few weeks got icy again. One afternoon we had a huge argument. It came to an abrupt halt when Pearla, my brother Barry’s ex, turned up. I did the usual and went for a four-hour walk.

  I packed my bags and left. I went straight back to Carol. I explained to Carol I’d made a mistake, that living with her was calm and peaceful, the way life should be. She took me back.

  Five weeks later in April 1985, Rosa rang me with the news that she was pregnant. This knocked me over and I couldn’t cope. I hung in with Carol for a couple of months but I wasn’t there, I just wasn’t there. How could I give her love when the love for myself was empty? I had to end it, as I was an emotional wreck. I didn’t know what to do. I went and lived with my parents for a while. I’m not ashamed to say it: I needed my mummy. She felt I should go away for a while, maybe to my mates in Cairns, and then, when I was a little more stable, make a decision about whether to return to Rosa. She felt that going back to Rosa would be the honourable thing to do. She also felt I should tell Rosa that I was going away to think about it. She was right, but I foolishly didn’t want to give Rosa false hope in case I decided not to; in case it made things worse for her. God, I was confused.

  Sometimes my profession has allowed me to escape life’s turmoil at the right time. I was offered a guest role on Five Mile Creek, an Aussie–US Disney Channel Western. I really needed to loosen up. I had a great fortnight with a wonderful bunch of people. I got there on the Friday and Michael Caton offered to put me up in a mansion in South Yarra that Disney was paying for. Caton and Louise Clark, whom he lovingly called ‘the Yank’, lived in the main house and eighteen-year-old Nicole Kidman lived in the converted stables at the back of the property. Caton fell in love with ‘the Yank’, who played one of the leads in the show. They were a fun couple.

  The director, Kevin Dobson, was an old mate from the Outlaw days. One of the leads, Rod Mullinar, was a mate but we’d never worked together before. Jay Kerr played Rod’s buddy in the show. He was a 6 foot 4 big bad Texan cowboy and a bloody good actor. On the first day on the set, we all had to ride into shot, settle and do the dialogue. The horse wrangler was Bill Willoughby, the guy who king-hit me in the ear on Never Never; no love lost. He gave me a horse that was jumping all over the place before I got on it.

  ‘You reckon you can ride, Jarratt, so I’ve given you a decent horse.’

  This wasn’t a decent horse. This was what’s called a mongrel. We rode into shot and this horse was jumping and twisting and going sideways out of shot. I complained that the horse was no good, and Bill indicated that I was no good.

  We did a second take. The horse was really geed up and it went everywhere, so I got off it and let it go. It bolted.

  Bill got angry. ‘Why’d you let the fuckin’ thing go?’

  ‘It’s a decent horse, Bill. A man with your capabilities shouldn’t have much trouble catching it.’

  I got a decent horse after that.

  We had a very interesting night at the Hard Rock Cafe on Friday night. Another series was in production called The Dunera Boys about Jewish migrants during World War II. It starred Bob Hoskins. A bunch of the young cast were in the booth beside us.

  They got drunk and a bit abusive. One in particular was shitty that Jay was keeping an Aussie actor out of work. We pointed out Bob Hoskins was British, but that didn’t make any difference to this drunken fool. Jay wasn’t taking any notice until this idiot called him a Yankee cunt.

  ‘You called me a Yankee what?’

  ‘Cunt.’

  The man monster grabbed this fool and started belting him. It took four of us to drag him off. Kevin took Jay outside and I had hold of the drunken idiot. He was crying crocodile tears and yelling, ‘Let me at him.’

  I said to him, ‘Now why don’t you just leave the big bad man alone. Sit there and have a good cry and we’ll be on our way. Thanks for fucking our night up.’

  Poor old Jay was very upset at what had happened. He wasn’t aggressive, he was a great bloke.

  Something else he said stuck with me; I don’t know why I remember because at the time I couldn’t see it happening. He said that Nicole was going to be a big star, she had that certain something and she looked magnificent. She is gorgeous inside and out, and you couldn’t ignore her beauty. It was Caton’s job to keep an eye out for ‘Young Nic’ (Caton has a pet name for everyone). Caton and Louise flew to Uluru the following weekend and told me to look after Young Nic. Okay, no worries.

  Video recorders were brand-new in 1985. It was exciting to put a movie on any time you liked, it was the height of modern technology at the time. Nicole had rented Endless Love, starring Brooke Shields, for us to watch after dinner. So there I was, single, thirty-three, sharing a lounge with an unknown eighteen-year-old Nicole Kidman in her PJs, watching a Brooke Shields film. ‘Look after Young Nic while we’re away, J J.’ Thanks, Caton! I remained the gentleman for the duration of my weekend watch.

  I returned to Sydney and the darkness rushed back into my life like a black storm. Welcome back to your life, John. Fight or flight? I decided I wanted to be alone. I couldn’t face anyone. I packed my FJ ute and headed for Kyogle with my dog, Georgie, in the passenger seat. I was in the car in front of my parents’ house ready to go, and I started to cry again. On cue Georgie jumped on my lap and gave me a cuddle.

  I went to Kyogle and started to clear acres of lantana from around the creek. For two months that’s all I did. I took my FJ ute down to the creek, wrapped a steel cable around the lantana and dragged it out. Then I could get to the roots and dig them out. I’d make a huge pile and move along to the next section of the creek and continue the process. All day, every day for two months. Mindless work that allowed me to think.

  At night I’d cook on a two-burner gas cooker. I’m the world’s worst cook. Meat, mashed potato, vegies or salad, fruit for dessert. Very bland but very healthy. I’d light the firebox, which had a wet back that John Ley had installed. This system heated the copper pipes at the back of the fire. Water from a tank on the roof passed through them, and the resulting hot water went into another tank on the top of the roof. A shower was set on the outside wall facing the property. I showered under brillian
t stars and sang my heart out. I composed a song in my head about one day getting back with Rosa. It was called ‘I Dream the Most Childish Clichés’. I started reading books prolifically for the first time, as there was no TV or electricity, just kero lanterns and candles. I read nonfiction, mainly. History, biographies. I loved a book about how New York evolved from hilly tribal land to the greatest city on earth.

  I think I was deeply depressed. I felt nothing, numb. I was in a bad way, I needed help. I was alone for two months, didn’t hear from anyone, didn’t see anyone. I rang my mum once a week reverse charges and talked to her for an hour or so. I can’t remember what I talked about, but her phone bills must have been high. I’d lost the will to live and I couldn’t be bothered killing myself. I couldn’t do it because of Zadia and the new baby. I must have called Zadia, I can’t remember.

  I was offered the lead in a film called Australian Dream alongside Noni Hazlehurst. It was one of the rare times in my life I agreed to do a film without reading the script. I was a great admirer of Noni’s work, and if she was in it, that was enough for me, although I hadn’t met her at this stage. The film was shot in Brisbane, only three hours from Kyogle. I packed my ute, put my faithful companion Georgie in the passenger seat.

  She was eight by then and had another five years left; she was a great friend. I could take her on film sets and she never got into shot. I had her with me on The Last Outlaw. She knew ‘Get behind the camera’, and most of the time I didn’t have to tell her. In all my time in movies, Georgie is the only dog who’s ever been allowed on set. Bizo and Peter Hehir decided they’d have her walk along with them as they approached camera, not a problem. We did the shot, then we went into a loose two shot.

  Bizo asked, ‘Do we need Georgie in?’

  ‘No, we won’t see her.’

  We did the take, the director said ‘cut’ and Georgie was sitting between them, in continuity. She was never caught on camera unless she was supposed to be there.