Bill Cawthorn has died.
He is better known as Bill The Busker. He was often seen busking outside Target in Benalla. He did say that his job was busking and he had done a lot of it. He had been slowly busking his way around Australia and he was staying at Painters Island in Wangaratta when he met Tammy and had got caught in Benalla. At times he had gigs in hotels in the district. He said that he entered himself in the occasional talent show or open mike night. Tammy would drive him. I had visions of grandeur by thinking I could become his manager. I could fulfill a dream by becoming the Brian Epstein of Benalla. I got to know him by just listening to him. I became a fan and in time I would sit for all his set and be entertained. I would try and go into town when I knew he would be playing. Of course I could not resist offering him advice between songs. But he took it in fairly good humour. And I have to say by me offering him superfluous advice about his songs and singing style in time we became friends. We didn’t socialise all that much but once he did come to my house to listen to what I could offer him in the way of songs. I wanted to teach him to sing Smokey Dawson’s “Memories of Old Khankoben” but because I was slightly more advanced in music and as I only played the piano it didn’t come off. We agreed that he and Tammy would visit for tea one night and we would work more on the song but the night never eventuated. He wasn’t all that keen to learn more songs. He had his repertoire written in his two books and that was really enough for him. Wasn’t interested in Slim Dusty. He claimed he was from a different generation. Didn’t sing folk songs. Click go the Shears? – “never heard of it”. Wasn’t interested in the Beatles. Or The Rolling Stones. Although he did claim to be an expert on Frank Zappa. This was a contradiction. He claimed he knew every song off Zappa’s first six albums. When I expressed skepticism he said it was true. Every song. When I further said I found this hard to believe he took me at my word and said he would prove it by singing every song. After three songs I admitted defeat. Not that I knew even one Frank Zappa song. He could have been making them up as he went for all I knew. But I believed him. He could not play them on the guitar of course but he obviously had listened to the albums an untold number of times and had committed the songs to memory. He could tell you details of Zappa’s career and private life. He was obviously a fan. This went against his general claim that he had limited taste in music. Of course he could have been following in the grand tradition of imitating Dylan’s personality. He was in effect a colleague of Dylan and would have known his attitudes. He could have been pretending to be Dylan. He could also have been taking me down a peg by taking the mickey out of me. We did meet once in the supermarket both pushing trolleys and I have to admit I found this an enjoyable experience. We gossiped in between the aisles. Leaning on our trolleys. I enjoyed his company. In retrospect we could have spent more time in each others company but unfortunately we did not. We do not believe we are going to die. He nearly always said he wasn't well – but as he did not look ill I didn’t believe him. He did say at one stage he had sworn off drink. He did tell me that he had over indulged in sex drugs and rock and roll to excess in his younger days and that he had come off second best. He was permanently affected. His kidneys were not functioning properly. Maybe also his liver. He had health problems he said. But I did not expect him to die. We did have some conversations of a personal nature. We discussed children, families etc. He did say he had enormous regrets about the relationship between himself and his children. Or lack of. He did say that he had not been able to resist sexual temptation when he was younger and that he had unfairly treated his first wife. He confided that he carried feelings and that he always thought of her when he sang “Wish You Were Here”. And he always sang this song whenever he could. This was his version of the Pink Floyd song and he did a pretty good job singing it. Obviously it had a special meaning. He admitted that Tammy had worked out that the song was not about her and did not like him doing it. He said he did not have good things to say about his second wife. He did not blame her - he admitted responsibility – but he would have preferred his druthers to be different. The relationship had ended badly and he did not want to reestablish contact. In time he said he had contacted his daughters and was talking to them again. I feel I did have some responsibility for his actions because I was always asking him if he had made contact with his children. And if not why not? Didn’t he love his children and miss them? We did do a fair amount of talk about children because he was having a hard time with his step children. I did not envy him. I only had limited contact with his stepchildren but they summed up more or less all the problems that are caused by the difference in generations. And step parents. Just how much contact should there be between a step child and a step father? Of course the mother has total control. Is it possible to love step children? Will the mother ever allow it? I only saw the step children when I visited Bill at his house. I sometimes saw the girl at the Learning Centre but she never looked in my direction. The boy of 12 or so was always sullen and resentful. Never deeming to make any contact or admit your existence. The slightly older girl was totally silent. She mainly sat in her bedroom and looked at her mobile phone. She looked miserable and I’m sure she was. I wanted to look both children in the eyes and say that I understood them perfectly. I had felt the same way when I was their age. I knew how they felt. We are all human beings. There was nothing unique in the way they felt. I felt particularly sorry for the girl. She is a large girl. More correctly overlarge. She would have had enormous problems in coping with the wider society. She will always have difficulty in getting a job. No one would ever be prompted to help her. But of course I did nothing. If I had it would not have been understood. And I am sure not appreciated. That’s why I say older women should be taking more interest in young girls with problems. It’s a subject that I probably bore people with. And I’m sorry to say women resent my comments. With all the talk about feminism there is not much real attempt made to relieve the problems of young girls by older women. It’s a sore point with me. Older women should be taking charge of young girls and helping them. They aren’t. One day I met Bill in the street and he said he was breaking with Tammy that very day. He could not continue with his step children. It was too toxic at home. It would be better if he left. He wanted to leave and still be on good terms with Tammy. He said he was going to camp in his station wagon. All he needed was a place to park. Well this presented me with a problem. I did have 150 acres on which he could camp. Plenty of room. I was in a kind of dilemma. Could I tell him to come to our place without first checking with Jenny? We were going to Tasmania early next week for a fortnight and a few weeks after that we were going to China. James was supposed to be coming to stay with us and Tom and Jane were supposed to be coming with the children the weekend we were in Tasmania. I said I would get back to him. I spoke to Jenny and she said he could use our spare bathroom. He could even use the caravan maybe if he wanted. I sent him a text saying this but by this time he had made other arrangements. He replied by text and I have it in my phone. I will keep it forever. “Thank you kindly my friend, very generous but I have things sorted for now, stay in touch my man, stay, you stay true” This was the last contact I had with him. I did send him a photo of a busker in Beijing singing much the same songs as he did but he did not reply. His funeral was a successful affair. It was held at the Gaudi Monument and was compared by a young Salvation Army Chaplain who admitted he had not known Bill. But he was sincere and authentic. I liked him. People were encouraged to say something and I could not resist speaking. I’m not sure anyone understood what I was saying or my intent. But I was speaking to Bill rather than the congregation. I could have been silent but why? People did not look at me when I spoke. What conclusions should I draw? The Chaplain finished up by reciting the prayer of King David. As usual I found it ironic that a Christian should recite a Jewish prayer with such conviction. I have always felt this contradiction. Doesn’t this prove we are all Jews? So why do some Christians still hate Jews? Later on at the wake at the Hotel I was approached by Bill’s daughter. What a revelation. She thanked me for saying something at the ceremony. She was attractive, well-dressed and sophisticated (although she had not heard of Frank Zappa). Forty years old but did not look it. She did not have children. She showed me a photo of Bill’s first wife. Also an attractive sophisticated looking woman. Also a revelation. What was Bill doing? He obviously wasn’t telling all about his past and his previous socioeconomic level in society. His daughter showed me a photo of Bill when he was in hospital and unconscious. Close to the end. Thankfully she had been able to get to him before he died. But he couldn’t talk. He looked awful. He could have been E.T. When it came to say goodbye to his daughter I asked if I could kiss her hand. Which I did. I am not the type of person to have friends but Bill and I could have been friends. He was after all a friendly fellow. He was not judgmental. Once in the street when he was busking he was approached by a man who was nearly half naked and this was in August – very cold. He spoke kindly to the man for a few minutes and at the end of the next song he explained to me as only he could – some people have mental issues. I am ashamed that I did not take charge on the day he said he was leaving and I wish I had got him to come to our place that very day. He might still be alive. But I was hesitant. He would probably have asked me to come to his place if the roles had been reversed. I wanted to tell his daughter all this but of course I did not. I felt by kissing her hand I might send a message of regret to Bill to mitigate a bit for my actions. He was living in the Edi Cutting when he got sick. I am familiar with the Edi Cutting. It is right out of my childhood. Elements of my extended family live at each end. It might be pleasant living there for most of the year. But a person with a malfunctioning liver is up against it living there in the middle of winter.
0 Comments
|
Categories
All
Topics
All
Archives
February 2024
|