Paul Panaretto
Twenty four year old Vrettos Dimitri Panaretto sailed into Sydney in 1892 and within a couple of years had acquired his own oyster saloon at 197 Oxford Street. Sometime in the late 1890s he and his younger brother, Ioannis, moved on to Moree where they can be credited with the establishment of one of the very first Greek Oyster Saloons in country NSW. Over the next few years they branched out into a number of nearby towns, installing fellow Kytherians as managers.
In early 1900 Victor went back to Potamos where he married Marouli Aroney, the daughter of Athanasios and Gregoria, and shortly afterwards the couple returned to Moree where their children Jim (Denny), Arthur, Jack, Calliopi (Poppy) and Gregoria (Florrie) were born. Ten years later the family returned permanently to Potamos where Kalypso, Paul, Eugenia, Sophia and Stamatina entered the world. Victor, who went on to become the President of the Commune of Potamos, died in the 1930s and Paul, on behalf of the family, subsequently donated the family mansion to the Potamos Old Peoples Home. This magnificent Georgian style villa, with a plaque dedicating the building to the memory of his parents, was handed over in a ceremony attended by all of Kythera’s dignitaries in 1981.
Victor’s sojourn at Moree was very rewarding, with his house an obvious statement of his success, and his example of what could be achieved in Australia contributed to the large wave of Kytherian migration just prior to the First World War.
His son Denny was the first of the family to return to Australia in about 1918/20 followed by Jack and Arthur two years later. They in turn sponsored out 14-year-old Paul in 1928 at the beginning of the Great Depression. At this time Arthur was working in Sydney, Jack in Lismore and Denny in Collarenebri beyond Moree.
Paul’s introduction to Australia didn’t augur well. Arthur, who met him in Sydney with the news that a job had been found for him at the Marble Bar Cafe in Casino, slipped him a couple of quid and promptly bungled him on a train for a terrifying journey north. Paul, alarmed and without a word of English, sat clutching his small suit case containing a change of underwear all the way to Grafton where the train terminated and, thinking this was the end of the journey, he got off and started looking for Jack who was supposed to meet him. With panic levels rising after a fruitless search he noticed that a ferry carrying all the other passengers was about to pull out across the Clarence. He just managed to scarper on board and on the other side doggedly stuck with them as they entered the railway refreshment rooms, where a waitress thrust an English menu in his hand and remained standing impatiently by his side. Greatly intimidated he eventually figured out what was going on, pointing vaguely at an item that turned out to be some inedible concoction that he stared at until all the other passengers got up and left. Not to be deserted be bolted after them, mimicking their actions on the way out and passed one of Arthur’s notes to the person on the till - and worked out sometime later that the uneaten meal had consumed 18 pence worth of this survival money.
Once on the train again, and still utterly bewildered, he cried all the way to Casino where, lo and behold, things got worse. Once again there was no sign of Jack and Paul’s anxiety levels were off the scale. ‘I cried and cried’ he said. It turned out that Jack couldn’t make it to Casino and had sent a taxi across from Lismore with instructions to the driver to walk up and down the station shouting “Polychronis Panaretto”. After all the other passengers had departed he was petrified when approached on the dark and deserted platform by this madman chanting something that sounded like ‘Polly Parrot’. Through some wild sign language he was eventually persuaded to hop into the cab, only to be ordered out again in the same language after a few minutes travel. Completely mystified and almost a gibbering wreck, he found himself in front of the Marble Bar Café and astonished to see an old school friend, George Simos, who eventually managed to assure him he wasn’t in the middle of a bad dream. ‘George saved my life’ says Paul.
[For the collectors of bizarre stories: The young Theo Mina Comino arrived in Sydney a couple of years earlier than Paul and was despatched like a parcel from Central Station by the Sydney Kytherians with a tag around his neck reading ‘Please put me off at Wee Waa’. It worked!]
Paul’s first English lessons were to recognise stock phrases like ‘ham n’ eggs, steak n’ eggs’ etc. On his first foray as a waiter he learnt a couple more. His customer ordered ‘steak n’ eggs’ which Paul, proudly resplendent in starched white jacket, duly comprehended and delivered, only to met with the phrase ‘Good onya’. Not to be out-bluffed, he appropriately bought the customer the onion he had ordered, but upon trying to place it on the plate was treated to a loud rendition of a new inscrutable language. He then called for interpretation from his boss, Peter Poulos, who taught him his next English phrase: ‘Bloody fool’.
Seventy five years later Paul still lives in Casino and probably enjoys the distinction of being the longest continuous Kytherian resident of any country town in Australia, let alone Northern NSW. He became a well-respected businessman in the district and a significant contributor to the development of Casino, serving on the committees of Rotary, Apex, the Masonic lodge, and a host of other community organizations that came and went over the years. In retirement he remains a well-known and well-liked figure around town. And now communicates in perfect English, although his eccentric cat only responds to Greek.
[Update wef 31Mar04: Paul is now running Coolamon Villa, Mullumbimby. His memory’s shot, he’s as deaf as a post and his arthritis won’t give him a break, but he’s still managing to charm the socks off all female residents under 95yrs of age. The staff is on guard to ensure he draws the line at socks, and, to assist in keeping him honest, ex-girlfriends and others can keep an ear on him at 02 6684 1248 or 1252, and, wef 6Apr04, directly on 66844022.]
[Update wef 13May05: Paul started on the next leg of his journey from Pinehaven Nursing Home, Byron Bay, at midnight Sunday 8/9May05, jumping the gun on his cheer squad who gathered at Casino yesterday to pray for his hassle-free run around the course. Yo Paul.]
[Another anecdote found in Paul’s store of stories:
The Poulos/Calopades/Chambiras partnership also owned The Golden Bell Café a few doors down from the Marble Bar. It was without a kitchen and only licensed for the serving of light refreshments, but when someone asked for something more substantial, rather than pass up the opportunity to pull a quid (these are Greeks we’re talking about), a runner would be dispatched down the back lane connecting with the Marble Bar where the meal was knocked up and delivered back with the customer hopefully none the wiser. One particular evening Tony Calopades and Paul were on duty in the Bell when a customer came in and ordered ham n’ eggs and Paul, still preening in new white mess kit (think Manuel in Fawlty Towers), was duly dispatched down the back lane. But it was a day of torrential rain and the lane was flooded, creating a great test of piloting skills. Completing the scene was a sewage main running down the lane, which had either broken or overflowed, giving rise to a few more floating navigation hazards. On the return journey the inevitable happened, as the Great Scriptwriter dictates, and Paul and the ham n’ eggs went for a swim. As fast as he could he brushed off the worst of the effluent from his now unstarched jacket, located the ham n’ eggs and picked out most of what shouldn’t be there, before making it back to the Bell dripping wet in what he thought was good time. But his sterling effort and devotion to duty went unrewarded as he arrived to find an irate Basil Fawltipades being berated by an impatient customer. Heavy negotiations were in progress, involving a complementary cuppa tea as a peace offering, the eventual outcome of which was a placated patron who walked out thanking the pair for a tasty meal. Said Paul: ‘The customer is always right’, a motto that served him well on the road to fortune, women and fast cars (I kid you not: a canary yellow E-type Jag and a duck-egg blue Mustang, with blonde passenger-seat accessories. Bastard.)]
