I hadn’t had much to do with the small town of Patchewollock before I was a State MP. I knew it was famous for a music festival. And that’s about it.
I had never been to the festival but I knew it must have been good given it was voted Mildura Rural City Council’s Event of the Year”, despite not being in the Mildura LGA.
As an MRCC councillor, I was consulted about that award and I remember having misgivings.
In my view, it was like giving the title of Miss Venezuela to someone from Brazil. I mean, who really gives a sh*t, but it’s the principle, right?
“It’s not in our LGA”, I pointed out.
“Yeah, but it’s close”, came the reply. End of discussion.
It would take another couple of years for me to make my first dedicated trip to Patche, this time as Member for Mildura.
The circumstances were awful.
It was July from memory, and the Victorian Government had just announced that the scheduled re-opening of pubs was indefinitely cancelled on account of the second wave.
The local publican, Bryce, had written an open letter to the Government that had gone viral. It spoke of the distress the restrictions had caused and the monumental financial and emotional strain on pub owners, especially those in the little towns where pubs were more than an optional extra, but an essential service.
After a long-ish drive from Mildura, via Sea Lake, we pulled up to a beautiful, compact, Art Deco brick building with distinctive murals across the facade and an old fashioned fire drum type contraption in the beer garden that reminded me of my Grandfather’s shed.
We stepped inside and there was Bryce, looking down and serious.
“Hi, I’m Ali, is there anything I can do?”, I said, trying to break the ice.
“What’s the point?”, he replied expressionless.
“Um, well … “ I started awkwardly, not knowing where to go next …
I wasn’t there to represent the Government so I sighed and conceded he was probably right.
“Yeah, but that won’t stop me from trying”, I said.
“The Government won’t listen anyway”, he said abruptly.
Bryce softened a bit, maybe because he felt sorry for me – I definitely looked nervous.
“Yeah, I know”, he said. And then the conversation started to flow …
We talked about the supplies he had bought in anticipation of reopening, that would now be wasted.
He talked about the electricity bills to keep the place running even though there was f*ck all revenue coming in.
He told me that if a pub in a town like Patche was to close, it’s unlikely it would reopen for a long time, if at all.
Eventually there was a small win. There was going to be an accelerated move to the third step, with some components of the fourth step brought forward. It wasn’t just my efforts. A lot of voices had been lobbying for this, but when I heard this news, my mind went straight to the Patche Pub and Bryce.
We talked about the row of jars above the fireplace, filled with samples of all the different cereals and grains that were grown in the area.
He pointed out the little built-in bench seat next to the fire that the local farmers banned him from ever removing or replacing because generations of farmers’ kids had fallen asleep in that cozy little nook, waiting for dad or grandpa to finish their last beer and for mum it grandma to take them home.
I left thinking that Bryce was most likely correct. There probably wasn’t much that I could do to help. But when I said goodbye and headed back to the car, I felt even more determined to try anyway.
The Patche Pub wouldn’t be going down without a fight. Not on my watch. Or Bryce’s.
Days and weeks went by. The roadmap to reopening the State was released. The timeline for pubs was excruciatingly slow. We lobbied the Government and harassed the Premier’s office. Letters were sent. Phone calls were made. Press releases were emailed, interviews given, tactical discussions had.
Against that backdrop, it was an honour to return to the Patche Pub last Friday to launch a book about the Mallee.
When I gave my speech, I acknowledged the brilliant author (Manangatang boy Adam McNichol) and the world-class photographers who contributed to the book.
But I also acknowledged Bryce – the man whose advocacy caused me to visit Patche in the first place – and whose passion for the Mallee and dedication to its people make him the epitome of Mallee Tough.
Had I known then, what I know now about this extraordinary, quirky, warm, and a little bit eccentric pocket of the Mallee, I would NEVER have questioned that ‘Event of the Year’ Award.
On the contrary, I would have been the one waving off any smart ass dissenters and telling them in no uncertain terms, “it’s close enough”.
