From Barry I got a copy of
an email sent to my usual address, it was from
a old associate (not really a friend) but someone
who did log into the blog.
She wanted to know why I chose the Mary Hopkins
song 'Those Were the Days' well, it's quite simple.
You see, many years ago we had two places in Sydney
that we used above all others, one was Mike's
and the other was a tavern/wine bar by the name
of 'La Chiffley'. Mike's was a very usual sort
of place, with a clientele that was mainly comprised
from the local offices. The 'Chiffley' was a more
dark and broody sort of place, which, although
set in the centre of the CBD, you would be unlikely
to find unless you know it was there. Set at the
end of an arcade, stuffed between a newsagent
and a Greek owned takeaway was a glass paned door
with a simple sign above it that read 'La Chiffley
Tavern'.
Once through the door it opened up into two smallish
rooms, the first being dominated by a bar residing
in perpetual dim artificial light, no daylight
intruded into this domain, it wasn’t meant for
that.
Both rooms were furnished with polished wooden
tables served by wooden trestle seats, not a
padded chair to be seen - and presiding over
his little kingdom was a Frenchman called 'Fred',
it was really Frederick or similar but he was
always simply 'Fred'. Behind the bar was his
wife Maria and she was supported by a countless
stream of pretty assistants none, (bar one),
who stayed very long ... youth needs the sun.
The license did not really allow for the sale
of beer as it was a wine bar license but this
never seemed to stop the stuff from freely flowing,
however, at the Chiffley you mainly drank wine.
Served in big carafes and rough enough to strip
paint. There were bottles of the 'good stuff'
but these we rarely touched. You also ate great
food, from genuine croissant and hard boiled
eggs for breakfast, to late night red wine beef
bourgeon -I can still taste those wonderful
meals - the food was needed, it worked as an
antidote for the terrible wine.
The Chiffley was always drowned in music, not
loud and not harsh, but it was always there.
Naturally included was all the usual French
stuff, with the strange tones of Edith Piaf
hovering over us - but there was also The Mamas
and the Papas, The Beachboys, Neil Diamond,
Roy Orbison, Simon and Garfunkel and many, many
more - I think that, like most of us, Fred was,
under it all, a frustrated hippy.
I can't remember how we found the Chiffley
but the only thing that counts is that we did.
Between 1975 and (I think) 1988 we were favoured
patrons. Often, when it was time to close, the
front bar area would shut down and the blinds
drawn - but in the back room we continued on,
often until our watches told us the sun was
rising on a new day.
Oh! the plans that were made and the futures
envisaged at those tables; wine, music and conversation
the trio of elements that build ... everything.
We often even danced in a strange sort of way,
weaving between the tables and falling down
a lot. It was also a place to go and lick wounds
when things had gone a tad wrong. Sitting together,
Fred playing nursemaid and keeping us supplied,
often the backroom was closed off for our exclusive
use - good old Fred he did seem to understand
our moods and needs.
Soon after Red left us in 1988 I did go back,
alone, and see Fred and his wife, they were
decimated by the news, she had been a favourite
of theirs. I did also see a few familiar faces
around but somehow the place seemed so empty
and I didn't stay too long.
The years past and the Chiffley faded into memory,
for some reason it was a place that was simply
too uncomfortable to remember.
Then in 1997 after I had left the Ducks and
flew back to Oz I took a stroll around town,
it had been a while and things were changing
fast, Sydney was losing its small city appeal
and becoming another bland concrete hive. I
wandered from pub to pub and saw a few people
from the past, but the ranks were becoming thin.
Then I wandered up the hill to Catlereagh St
and the arcade that led to 'La Chiffley' and
I guess that's when I really knew that it was
all over - it was gone. A different door to
a different place that was now a commercial
real estate agents, no, Fred, no Maria, no music,
no wine to dull the pains, just a peroxide blond
girl looking out from behind a cheap veneer
desk, with eyes already dead to dreams.
However, I did (rather the worse for a drink
or two) walk past the place again after midnight
that same night on my way back to they hotel
and looking in I could almost see the old door
and behind it, in that comfortable dim light,
shadowy figures talking and laughing whilst
drinking bad wine from overly large glasses
- I could even hear the music and see faces
so familiar, still young, still with belief
in their faces and faith in the future that
awaited them.
Then it was simply a door again ... and for
the last time, I walked away
My children went into convulsions
of laughter when they saw this. To them it's
a blurred, very antiquated song, performed by
a girl dressed like something from a hippie
movie and to make matters even worse, it's in
black and white. Well, they can laugh all they
want, it means something to a generation they
will never understand. As for me, well, I like
to listen to it with a glass or ten of rough
red wine and some heavily buttered croissant
close to hand
