In the wake of this month’s debut of the ABC’s Piano series – based on members of the public playing the piano in busy public places – many readers have reminded me of a piece I wrote a couple of decades ago, about a particular incident at Watsons Bay in the 1950s. They’ve asked for an
encore – I thought they’d never ask – and here it is:
Watsons Bay has long been one of the most delightful spots in all of Sydney town. That cosy little beach beside the splendid harbour, the stunning view back to the city and the sunny disposition of both the local folk and day-trippers combine to give the place a certain luxuriant lassitude that is pleasing to the spirit.
Andy and Shion appear in the ABC’s new show The Piano.
And it has long been thus, forever gathering to it the people-of-the-pass-the-wine-please, frequently of the more eccentric variety. Which brings me to that rotunda in the park … Let me tell you a story about it, from that hazy no-man’s-land of history after World War II. See, back then there was this tall rainbow of a man who sometimes used to dance around the park and then sleep in the rotunda. He was a vagrant of faintly gentlemanly disposition known as “Blue Omo” in mock reference to the fact that, unlike the washing powder of the same name, cleanliness was not his forte.
Still, he was a nice man and there was about him the air of one who had known much better days. He had a way of moving, a manner of talking, a style of arranging his tattered blue suit and gaberdine overcoat – often with a freshly picked flower in his lapel – that bespoke of a man who, whatever his fallen circumstances, once knew how to fill out a suit with panache. He was a harmless, lovely man of mystery. Who was he? What on earth was his story?
No one knew and there was no real way of finding out as, sadly, he was usually away with the pixies, constantly telling people he had to catch the last tram out of the bay as he had to go to Town Hall or the Conservatorium or Government House to play piano at a reception at the personal invitation of the governor himself.
A piano in the Robertson Park rotunda in Watsons Bay became the site of an impromptu concert.Credit: 2006
Ah, how they laughed. Good ol’ Blue Omo, a wonderful ol’ fellow with rheumy eyes who they looked after the best they could, yet certainly never took seriously. But then one day, around Christmas, the denouement. There was a carnival in the park and a grand piano had been placed in the rotunda. No one thought much about it until …
In the mid-afternoon, ol’ Blue staggered up the steps of the rotunda and sat before the piano. And began to play. Beautifully. People in the park looked up from their picnics as the first of the chords floated majestically over them. First Mozart and then Chopin and then Liszt. Down by the wharf, children stopped what they were doing and looked in the direction of the rotunda. Fishermen put down the nets they were cleaning. What was going on?
The word spread. Blue Omo was playing piano up at the rotunda. People came out of their houses and the hotel quickly emptied as the crowd around him continued to build. Blue Omo did not look up but kept playing, transported to a place far, far away in a world – his world – that many were now glimpsing for the first time. And it was wonderful. The only sound to be heard was his extraordinary performance as he rocked back and forth and his fingers moved in a blur.
Read the full article here
