yesterday my friend andrew mcmillan passed away, he was just 4 years older than me and the big C got him. andrew was many things to many people, a gonzo journalist of our times, an accomplished author of substantial works on the history of arnhem land, a dying man in a dying trade – a fair dinkum rock journalist, a songwriter, poet and wordsmith.
to me he was a quiet mate that i met in the bush in arnhem land, an eccentric in a time when they have become an endangered species, he looked like a hatful of smashed mud crabs, he chain smoked thin weedy rollies, he drank red wine as if he had the last bottle on the planet. he was quiet, introverted, shy and a loner. his camp was always the simplest – and probably the most practical.
in saying that, he loved a passionate discourse on subjects close to his heart, was not uncomfortable performing in public nor around crowds of people, but i always sensed he was happiest, in the bush, alone and with simple means.
we met in the early years of my working for the yothu yindi foundation at garma, without knowing anything about him i was drawn to his odd and incongruous demeanour, he was introduced to me by a wild spanish girl i was having a fling with, she worked at the NT writer’s centre and knew andrew from there.
i had a secret stash of booze off site from the festival and would sneak off at night with a select group like naughty school kids ducking behind the shelter shed at recess for a durrie, andrew joined us for a quiet plastic beaker of rough red and a friendship was born.
we would catch up every year or so, mainly in arnhem land when he came to visit, sometimes in darwin when i was over, i always enjoyed the company of his sharp mind and shared his love of, and fascination with, the history of this special part of the world i call home.
if you have never heard of andrew, or never read any of his work, do yourself a favour and sit down with a glass of red, preferably outside somewhere with the sounds of the bush as a backdrop, and read a little of his scribbling. trust me, you wont be disappointed.
i suspect we will never see his like again, its not just the passing of andrew we might mourn, but also of a style of writing and journalism that is increasingly at odds with the world we live in today. andrew could probably only have survived and thrived in a place like the northern territory, on the edge of civilisation and society as we know it, the last of the pioneer towns, an outpost of the displaced, the homeless, the odd and the rare.
a land still home to a few of life’s real characters, people like the irrepressible phil o’brien, bob gosford, will stubbs and others i am sure fellow territorians will be able to think of.
the following is a little piece by another mate of andrew’s, the photographer glenn campbell, with andrew’s voice.
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if you would like to read some more about andrew, his website – here
and a couple of pieces by bob gosford – here and here
glenn’s blog piece – here
