to the everlasting gratitude of my mother whoâd conceived the four of us in slightly less than six years, caused him to become infertile. Furthermore, with him on a fishing boat most nights and suffering from brewerâs droop of a Sunday and back on a trawler pre-dawn on Monday morning, she was seldom obliged to share the connubial bed. This was yet another reason why sheâd come to believe there must be an understanding God in heaven, and at the age of forty she came to the conclusion He must be a Catholic. To everyoneâs surprise, she turned from a lukewarm âChristenings and Christmas-morning communion Anglicanâ to a red-hot Catholic, to become one of Father Crosbyâs most devoted parishioners.
If it hadnât been for music we would have been pretty well anonymous, no different to any other fishing family. It was our expertise on the mouth organ that singularly separated us from the other interchangeable island family groups. The name McKenzie meant mouth-organ music and had done so for three generations. The mouth organ was cheap and melodious and could be carried in oneâs pocket, and so became a hugely popular instrument amongst the poor and in the bush. Many people on the island played it but, it seemed, the McKenzies had the sublime touch and could make a Hohner do things, hit notes it wasnât supposed to be capable of reaching. In his later years, playing a twenty-reed, ten-hole Hohner imported from Germany, my grandpa, leaving the island once a year for the championships on the big island, became Tasmanian champion two years running.
My dad often recalled how, in 1912 at the age of fourteen, his father presented him with the very latest mouth organ known as the âCobberâ, bought from the prize money heâd won at the last Tasmanian championships and subsequently placed on a horse that, for once, came good. It was Cliff McKenzieâs way of saying that Alf was the one in the family who had âthe giftâ and, in effect, passing on the musical baton to his youngest son.
Alf McKenzie didnât have much he could truly call his own, and the Cobber was to become his most treasured possession. The cabinet it rested in was crafted from specially selected Queensland maple and was proudly Australian-made. My grandpa Cliff made him learn âThe Cobber Songâ, an early version of an advertising jingle. In turn, as kids, Alf made us all memorise the words. When he was pleasantly oiled, say on a birthday or late on Christmas afternoons, the only occasions my mum allowed grog in the house, heâd take his Cobber out of its fancy maple box with its faded maroon velvet lining and weâd sing along while he played, extemporising an elaborate musical break of his own composition between each verse.
My Cobber
Who cheers me up when I am sad,
And makes me feel supremely glad,
And quite a well-contented lad?
My Cobber.
Whose tones are so divinely sweet,
That when I play it in the street,
It soothes the bobbies on their beat?
My Cobber.
Who can produce the latest tunes,
The crazy rag, the song of coons?
O, greatest of all music boons.
My Cobber.
Who keeps me company all day,
When âer I wander far away,
And âHome Sweet Homeâ upon it play?
My Cobber.
Its fame is known from Cairns to Perth,
How can I estimate its worth?
The best mouth organ upon this earth.
My Cobber.
Alf McKenzie followed in his fatherâs footsteps and even went one better, winning the Tasmanian and Victorian championships three times in five years until, on the sixth, competing at the National Harmonica Championships held in the Colosseum at Ballarat, he was bitterly disappointed at the marks awarded him by one of the adjudicators, a certain Maestro Gustave Slapoffski. True to family tradition, Alf went out and buried his sorrows by getting pissed. Two hours later, filled to the brim with Dutch courage, he stormed back onto the stage to tell the audience
If it hadnât been for music we would have been pretty well anonymous, no different to any other fishing family. It was our expertise on the mouth organ that singularly separated us from the other interchangeable island family groups. The name McKenzie meant mouth-organ music and had done so for three generations. The mouth organ was cheap and melodious and could be carried in oneâs pocket, and so became a hugely popular instrument amongst the poor and in the bush. Many people on the island played it but, it seemed, the McKenzies had the sublime touch and could make a Hohner do things, hit notes it wasnât supposed to be capable of reaching. In his later years, playing a twenty-reed, ten-hole Hohner imported from Germany, my grandpa, leaving the island once a year for the championships on the big island, became Tasmanian champion two years running.
My dad often recalled how, in 1912 at the age of fourteen, his father presented him with the very latest mouth organ known as the âCobberâ, bought from the prize money heâd won at the last Tasmanian championships and subsequently placed on a horse that, for once, came good. It was Cliff McKenzieâs way of saying that Alf was the one in the family who had âthe giftâ and, in effect, passing on the musical baton to his youngest son.
Alf McKenzie didnât have much he could truly call his own, and the Cobber was to become his most treasured possession. The cabinet it rested in was crafted from specially selected Queensland maple and was proudly Australian-made. My grandpa Cliff made him learn âThe Cobber Songâ, an early version of an advertising jingle. In turn, as kids, Alf made us all memorise the words. When he was pleasantly oiled, say on a birthday or late on Christmas afternoons, the only occasions my mum allowed grog in the house, heâd take his Cobber out of its fancy maple box with its faded maroon velvet lining and weâd sing along while he played, extemporising an elaborate musical break of his own composition between each verse.
My Cobber
Who cheers me up when I am sad,
And makes me feel supremely glad,
And quite a well-contented lad?
My Cobber.
Whose tones are so divinely sweet,
That when I play it in the street,
It soothes the bobbies on their beat?
My Cobber.
Who can produce the latest tunes,
The crazy rag, the song of coons?
O, greatest of all music boons.
My Cobber.
Who keeps me company all day,
When âer I wander far away,
And âHome Sweet Homeâ upon it play?
My Cobber.
Its fame is known from Cairns to Perth,
How can I estimate its worth?
The best mouth organ upon this earth.
My Cobber.
Alf McKenzie followed in his fatherâs footsteps and even went one better, winning the Tasmanian and Victorian championships three times in five years until, on the sixth, competing at the National Harmonica Championships held in the Colosseum at Ballarat, he was bitterly disappointed at the marks awarded him by one of the adjudicators, a certain Maestro Gustave Slapoffski. True to family tradition, Alf went out and buried his sorrows by getting pissed. Two hours later, filled to the brim with Dutch courage, he stormed back onto the stage to tell the audience
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