Uncle Maurie
– Media Tart
My Uncle
Maurie is a lovely old guy. A little eccentric, but a lovely old guy.
Uncle Maurie
is old. 84. And he still lives in the house that Grandpa built with the money
he got from the war. A shack of asbestos and weather boards, with a
buckling pine board floor made from orange crates and a miss matched kitchen which is strangely
located next to the front door.
Originally,
the shack sat on about one and half acres of land. But over the years
the Mount Lindesay Highway, barely the width of a car when Grandpa bought the
land, has inched closer and closer to the front door. Now the highway is was right outside. 50
meters wide, a four lane highway, two vehicle pull off lanes, guard rails and a service
road on either side. Mum claims that when the government took from Nan that
final bit of land for the service road, that was the end of her. That was what
caused the “turn that took Nan out”. Uncle Maurie, though, didn’t seem to mind.
He has always enjoyed sitting on the tiny front porch, watching the world go
by. It was just a bit closer now.
Uncle Maurie
is my mum’s older brother and her only sibling. For as long as I can remember
the sibling rivalry between these two has been as fierce as a couple of mice
fighting over the same piece of cheese. My brother and I are Uncle Maurie’s
only family, apart from Mum, who “washes her hands of him” regularly. He never
married but lived with Nan, and cared for her after Grandpa died. When Nan also
passed away the land and shack was supposed to be sold and the money divided between the two siblings. But the highway development had made
the land almost worthless and the shack; well it’s hardly what you would call charming.
So in the end the decision was made to let Uncle Maurie live out his days, quietly, in the home he had always known.
And we really did think it would be quiet. That is, until the day that Uncle Maurie got his first taste of life as a
celebrity.
I could hear
my mobile going mad in my handbag on the seat next to me. Not having Bluetooth in
the car, and being a bit anti-mobile phone, I decided I would let it ring.
After all I was only five minutes from home, I’ll answer it then. But it didn’t
stop. And it didn’t stop even as I was fumbled with the keys to my house.
“Are you
home? Quick, quick, turn the TV on. Channel 7. Quick. You’ll miss it.” It was
my brother.
The TV
started speaking before the picture came on and I could hear Uncle Maurie’s
voice. Then the telephone started ringing and my brother's voice was still in my ear on
the mobile.
“Oh my god.
Are you watching this? How funny is it? Mum is going to freak.”
Gobsmacked. Speechless.
I stood there watching my Uncle Maurie. In his old man y-fronts and a
rather holey singlet. Chatting nonchalantly to a reporter.
The phone was ringing frantically but there was no way I was going to answer it. I
knew that Mum would be on the other end and I knew that she was not happy.
It took me a
couple of seconds but eventually I focused in on what Uncle Maurie was saying.
“You see. I
found some eggs. In the bushes. Up the back of me block. A cat or sumthin’ had got the mother. The
eggs were still warm so I brung them inta the house and scratched ‘roun for a
bit of sumthin’ to keep 'em warm. I was gonna eat them but I thought they’d be
bad and I didn't want a gut ache or the runs. So I says to maself, “self, duck for dinner”.
The reporter
clearly was struggling for control. Standing in front of him was this strange
old man, with very few teeth in his head, wearing only baggy undies and a holey
singlet. Not exactly the stuff that the
Walkley’s are made of, but priceless none the less.
“Mr Mason”
“Call me
Mozza”, corrects Uncle Maurie with a big gappy grin.
“Mozza” smirks the reporter.“Mozza.
Did you consider that running out onto a very busy four lane
highway at peak hour, and on sunset, might be dangerous?”
“I've lived off this road all me life. I was ‘ere when it was nuffen but a bush track. I
know this road like the back of me hand”.
With this Uncle Maurie raise a hand
and waved around a bag of frozen peas.
“Mr Mason”, a
different voice, slightly out of camera shot.
“Mozza!”, corrects Uncle Maurie.
“Mozza”, the different voice, now sounding
slightly exasperated. “Mozza has been made aware of the danger and the disruption
his actions has caused this evening. However, no charges will be laid.”
The TV picture
widens to include a policeman, standing to the side of Uncle Maurie, firmly holding the arm without the peas. The reporter,
fighting to keep his composure, turns back to Uncle Maurie.
“Mozza… I
understand that you have been a long term resident and have seen a lot of
changes in this area during your life”. Uncle Maruie nods sagely. “But surely
you must agree that to suddenly run out onto a four lane highway, dressed only
in your underwear and waving a bag of frozen peas, might be cause for alarm.”
“I wasn’t
doin’ nuffin’ wrong. I was jus helpin’ me babies get across tha road to tha
water over there.” Uncle Maurie waves his bag of frozen peas in the direction
of the little lake on a property on the other side of the highway. “I didn’t
want them to get squished”.
“Mr Mason”
“Mozza!!”, corrects Uncle
Maurie.
“Mozza” the
policeman, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes, “Mozza is well known
throughout the community and fortunately for Mr… Mozza one of the motorists
tonight recognised him and helped him off the road preventing a tragedy.
As I stated before no charges will be laid, only a warning this time”.
At this
Uncle Maurie gave a stern nod to the reporter, who nearly chokes on his laughter.
“Mozza… one
final question. What’s with the peas?”
Uncle Maurie
looked perplexed. “Peas?”
“Yes. The bag
of frozen peas you have in your hand”.
“Oh. Well I
s’pose it was the first thing I grabbed. I was cookin’ me tea you see. An I
sees me babies heading off under the guard rail. So I looks ‘round for sumthin’
bright and I must have grabs the peas. They're yellow, see.” Uncle Maurie shakes
the bag of peas in the reporter’s face.
“Oh my god”.
“I know. It’s
hilarious. Classic Uncle Mozza”.
The home phone is still ringing a fit.
With this the
policeman turns away from the camera, unable to hide his grin and the reporter
is on the verge of losing it completely. To save face the reporter quickly throws
back to the studio, but this catches the anchor unaware. She has her head in
her hands and is racked with laughter. She looks up. Wipes the tears from
her eyes and thanks the reporter for the live cross before moving onto the next
story.
My phone is
still ringing and I can hear my brother on the mobile, roaring with laughter. In
the background his wife calls out “I told you. Your family are a bunch of
weirdos. Honestly who tries to direct traffic on a four lane highway with a bag
of peas, wearing only undies?”
I never did
answer my phone that night or the next day. I thought it best to let my mum
cool down a bit before discussing Uncle Maurie’s TV debut.
A few months
later my brother and I got an invite to Uncle Maurie’s for a “Sundee dinner”. I
surprised to find that we were not his only guests. The reporter and the
policeman who featured in Uncle Maurie’s 15 minutes of fame were also at the
table. Uncle Maurie
shone brightly that afternoon, as the “star”. The highlight of the afternoon was Uncle Maurie's roast duck.
Later, as my brother and I said our goodbyes, I noticed some new additions to Uncle Maurie’s
kitchen. Sitting in the corner, next to the stove, was a couple of bright
orange “witches hats” and hanging on the back of the kitchen door, a hi-vis
vest. “Just in case” he winks at me.
-o-O-o-
This story is a work of pure fiction.
I did have an
Uncle Maurie but he passed away when I was a child. And my Uncle Maurie was
nothing like this one. This Uncle Maurie doesn't exist; he is mixture of many
men from my life. In no particular order; my dad, my father-in-law, my real
uncle, my brother, a friend of ours from Redland Bay and several other elderly
gentlemen that I have meet through the work that I do. The other characters in
the story are not representations of people that I know or family members but I
will admit that some special family quirks have creeped in here and there.
The shack on the Mt Lindesay Highway sort of does exist. There are a lot of places
like that on the road out to Jimboomba, west of Brisbane. The description of
the shack itself comes partly from a shack that my husband’s family has
and my grandmother’s house.
The story
about the ducks and the frozen peas. The ducks I made up but the man directing
traffic with frozen peas, well that’s a real life story and the inspiration
behind this one. I hope you enjoyed it.
If you are
reading this from somewhere outside of Australia and are not familiar with some
of the colloquialism used in the story, below is a small glossary of terms.
“ the turn
that took Nan out” – a generalisation used by older members of my family to explain health conditions that
are not clearly understood. It could be a heart attack, a stroke, or anything
other medical problem. It all becomes a “turn”.
“old man
y-fronts” and “undies” – these are the same thing. Old man y-fronts are a
particular type of underwear, sort of like the old man equivalent to grandma
underpants. Really big, really baggy but have a “y front” opening for ease of
use.
“singlet” –
another undergarment, a sleeveless vest.
“Walkley’s” –
Australian journalist awards.
“Mozza” –
typical Australian style of nickname/term of endearment but it only suits some
names. Maurie – Mozza, Darren – Dazza, Sharon – Shazza etc.
“tea” – the meal
eating at night. Not to be confused with “Sundee dinner”, this actually means
lunch.
“witches hats”
– traffic cones.
“hi-vis vest”
– high visibility safety vest, typically fluoro yellow or orange and worn by
emergency or road workers.
