Lancastrian Harry Allbut
and partner Renata Del Rio were both in our Irish band Squillions. Someone
whispered in my ear one night that Renata's real name was Violet Dobson, that
she was from Tempe, but we always knew her as Renata from Santiago. The Allbut
was a funny bugger, funny ha ha that is, and one of the most relaxed
persons you'd ever meet. In fact he made it into an art form. Rising
between 2 and 3 o'clock mid afternoon he would say to Renata "Bloody 'ell you're
a cracker you. Ah need full grease and oil change love, and don't forget HP".
This was the full Manchester grease up, eggs bacon snags HP sauce,
swallowed down with gallons of tea. Renata was indulgent, at least when we were
visiting, anyway she was used to Harry's habits. Following breakfast and several
satisfied body noises, using the full dynamics of the spectrum and proclaiming
each keychange, he would then sit down to watch TV, play his banjo or mandolin for
an hour or two, or both. He would have been a circus if you'd have got more
movement out of him.
However,
come Saturday night, unless our band was playing (and it wasn't most of the
time cos that was practice night, which, in retrospect, may indicate
something.....), he was in cheffin' mode. On with his chef's hat, which was
emblazed "CHEF", together with his chef's apron which stated "I'M
EFFIN CHEFFIN COUNT YOUR BLESSIN'S" and
he would proceed to make his fish soup, which he was proud to attribute to a
mate from Manchester, called Juan D'Angelo, known as "Billy
Onions". Of course he made enough to feed the band which made practice more
enjoyable, but more on the soup later.
Harry and Renata shared a great sense of humour, and he was not averse to a practical joke, in fact if you'd slipped over
and broken your leg in front of him he would have rolled around the floor in
stitches. He got me a beauty once when he rang and disguised his thick
Manchester accent with an Irish brogue.
"Barry,
Barry, is it yourself? It's me, it's Mick Hagan, from Dublin, you
remember......from Slattery's in Capel Street.......you said to contact if I ever
got to Australia, an' dat's what Oi'm doin' ".
"Mick.......er,
from Slattery's?"
"Yeah
Barry, what a grand noight it was, you remember, de folk club noight........dere was
dat band you remember…..?"
"The
Ranters?"
"De
Ranters dat was it, bejasus an' could dey turn it on, wha? Onyway Barry,
Oi'm here in Sydney a coupla days an' Oi taught Oi'd contact an' we
could meet for a coupla jars an' de craik".
"Well
sure Mick er....... why don't you come around to our place tonight I'll get
Denise to make something special, you remember Denise?"
"Ah
sure Barry, such a sweet girl, an' well proportioned Barry wha?"
"Er.......yeah Mick".
Well
the Allbut had me, lock, stock and barrelled. I rang Denise.
"Hey
love, you'll never guess who rang? Mick........Mick from Slattery's."
"From
Dublin? Mick? Don't remember him. Mind you it was a big night. He's over
here obviously?"
"Yeah,
huge night, must have met a dozen Micks. The Guinness...........anyway he remembers
you well and I've invited him round for dinner, one of your specials".
And
so out we went a-buying up enough to impress one thirsty Dubliner with Aussie
hospitality. To arrive home and find a note stuck in the door:
Barry,
sorry can't make your fine meal, apologies to the missus and all her
proportions. Rang me Da an me Granda died last week and they're holdin a wake.
Also, one of me donkeys went lame and they shot it. That's what they do with
donkeys over there. Mick
I
could have taken it personally, so I did. I
let a week go by, so he'd finished that high pitched cockatoo laugh by a
couple of days, and I enlisted a colleague with an officious sounding voice to
ring him as Sergeant Duncan from Burwood Police Station.
"Mr
Allbut our records show that you are the owner of a 1968 Holden utility
registration number XQC796."
"Yes,
that's the car"
"I
wish to discuss a traffic infringement which has been reported, and I want you
down here soon, within the hour."
"But
er......Sergeant er.......I've got a
job on, I can't come now, I'm busy".
"Allbut,
if I have to get up from my comfortable chair and make a house call, I'm going
to be more than a touch annoyed. Get your arse down here now, on the double, and
I don't want you driving that vehicle."
"Right-o".
Renata
said later, after the dust had settled, that a white faced Allbut had set off
poste haste on shank's pony to walk the two Ks, only to find that the
disinterested desk staff didn't know Sergeant Duncan, and told him that he
must have the wrong police station. Bastards ["bas" pron. as in "gas"] ,
he said when he arrived home, bloody bastards, I'll 'av 'em.
Our
Irish band Squillions ran for about two years with me in it, during which time
we must have played about ten gigs max. But when we played mate the earth shook
- some fat bugger had tripped over a bodhrain. And gradually it seemed that
the more The Allbut played Irish music, the more he metamorphosised into Mick
O'Oirish, his bulk increasing, his beard growing longer and even his accent
changing, although when he'd been drinking he slipped back into Manchester
" 'Array aye, 'ow at ay?".
The
last time I saw him before he relocated to Ireland, and according to Renata
reinvented himself, was at The Taverners Bar in Leichhardt which is where they
held the Sydney folk club performances in 1988. I'd gone there with my good
friend LJ Hetherington and The Allbut was in fine form.
The
seating on the folk evening was arranged in rows like church pews and the folk
congregation as always were appropriately reverent and chatter during the
performance was regarded as sacrilege. We sat on stools at a round table near
the bar, as you do. The Allbut, whose mood was irreverent at the best of times,
was attracting the attention of a sharp faced hammer dulcimer player who was
shooting daggers at yer man's impudent sconce.
"Big
bloody bull dyke that one, put a bull out t'shit she would", said Harry
loudly from his derisory height on the stool. He had doubts about her sexual
preference it seemed but when pressed further it emerged that he had been
chewing on an incident when he had lent her a battery for 'er bloody 'ammer
bloody dulcimer, and what did she do later but sent it back to him through the
post, with her card attached, on which was a sketch of a woman playing a hammer
dulcimer. The Allbut was incensed with the memory of his perceived slight,
splurting Guinness in his spiky denouncement. Perhaps she had meant well I
suggested. This was rapidly dumped upon by the now venomous Lancastrian who
reverted to dialect to boot verbal crutch,
"Ah knaw what she were saying, she were saying ah want nothing t'do
wi' you, ah owe you nowt". I
suggested that he seemed more than a trifle peeved by someone who he didn't have
a high regard for in the first place. He reverted to his original stance. "Big bloody bull dyke, stands up
t' piss". I gathered that his
professional standing as a mover and shaker in the Irish music hierarchy had
been overlooked....... There must be respect y'unnerstand, to be sure, to be sure.
We
were fortunate that night to be treated to an amusing sequel to the Mysterious
Case of Insult Caused by The Returned Battery. The Allbut had bought tickets in
the folk club raffle and had won a bottle of port. "Ah can't stand
port," said your man who, although renowned for a prodigious thirst, had
nurtured a no frills palate. So he
was presented with an alternate prize which turned out to be........... you
guessed it, a tape of the afore slagged BBD hammering away on her dulcimer. For
once, he was lost for words.
Ah
yes it was an amusing night that night, in fact the last time I saw Harry. I remember he had an Irish mate there, Seamus Liam Mac Og O'Flynn - can't
recall his real name - anyway an amazing storyteller when he was steamed, told
one about playing a gig in a remote country pub in County Mayo, and on his way
there walking along one of those narrow country lanes he was taken by this
terrible urge to rid himself of an almighty itch on the posterioral portion of
his person, and with an Irish sense of propriety, not wishing to disturb the
bovines on the one side o' de road, jumped the little rocky wall on de udder
side, pulled down de accoutrements bald arse to de elements and scratched his
wayward orifice to unholy relief, heard a giggle and a laugh, turned his head
and spotted a pair of faces before they ducked off behind a hedge. Anyway, that
night on opening his set he noticed that there was barely an audience, just a
pair of faces in the front row, which, having seen the bugle end of the
performer, were now being entertained by the other. An all round entertainer was
Seamus.
And
now Harry has gone to auld Ireland where he lives on a farm in Arklow, with
his wife and brood, reinvented so there's nowt a trace of owt
before, and he owes no bugger nothin' to be sure, to be sure.
I've
tweaked the original Billy Onions' recipe, as fiercely guarded by Gatekeeper
Allbut, to include cinnamon and thyme and also the Italian gremolada (garlic,
parsley and lemon), which is added at the end. The richness and saltiness of
stock can vary depending on which stock you use, so you will need to taste
before you add the mussels at step 3, and adjust if necessary. You may use a
couple of baby calamari in place of the baby shark, the cooking time remains the
same for both.
PRAWN,
MUSSELL AND SHARK FISH SOUP
1.5
litres of stock, either fish made from prawn heads, 1 carrot, 1 bay leaf, 1
celery stick, 1 garlic clove crushed, 6 peppercorns, boiled for 20 minutes,
or
vegetable or chicken stock, or Japanese dashi moto powder.
2
large onions, chopped
3
garlic cloves, finely chopped
1
large red capsicum (red pepper), chopped
1
large green capsicum, chopped
3
large spuds, peeled and chopped
4
tbs extra virgin olive oil
1
400g tin tomatoes
2
bay leaves
1
teaspoon paprika
1/2
teaspoon turmeric
1
tbs tomato paste
2
teaspoon chilli powder
100
ml dry white wine
2
tbs salt or Thai fish sauce
1
tbs sugar
1/4
cinnamon stick
1
tsp dried thyme
12
large prawns, beheaded and shelled
1/2
kilo black mussels
1
fillet baby shark, or similar, cut into chunks
2
tbs finely chopped parsley
1
large garlic clove finely chopped
2
tbs lemon peel finely chopped
1.
saute
2nd bracket of
onions, garlic, capsicum and spuds and
cover for 5 mins on low/ medium heat
2,
add 3rd bracket and stock (1st bracket), cover and
simmer for 20 mins. Taste and adjust for seasoning
3.
add
mussels, cover cook for 4 mins and remove to plate.
4.
add
prawns and shark or calamari and cook for 3-4 mins on medium heat
5.
stir
last bracket of parsley etc into soup, add cooked mussels and serve with crusty
loaf and wine