Australian accents

This is the start of chapter 4 in the new book that I have been working on. No hints as to the subject matter, not just yet.

Until about 1945, many Australians talked of Home. In My Country, Dorothea Mackellar contrasted their love of field and coppice with her love for a sunburnt country. Home (pronounced with a capital H) was Britain, and most of them wanted to go there, or go back there. Whether they ever got there or not, much of the white population had been half-way around the world at least once, or their parents had. Australians were travellers and we still are.

Sit in a coffee shop in Riga, a wine bar near Rome’s Spanish Steps, a restaurant in Bergen, a Greek café in Banff, a chippie in Glasgow, a tapas bar in Cuzco or a bangers and mash restaurant in Reykjavik, and when you hear Australian tones (and you will), project your voice and say “G’day!” with your mouth hardly moving, and your vowels as flat as a roadkill goanna after a road train convoy has passed by.

Then, from the corner of your eye, watch the Australian heads turn, seeking their unseen compatriot who may have news from back home. That’s the news we want now, not news from Home, and that single “G’day!” reminds us of where our home really is.

One thing is certain: wherever you go, Australians will always be there, somewhere in the crowd, because Australians love to travel—and that travel habit began with the convicts.