A quiet Sunday, Brisbane, 1954, out front of the fruit shop and milk bar… when cousin Tony came to visit from Melbourne and everyone met there for photos since, at this time, Nonno Anni kept it open from 7am until 10pm, 363 days a year.
It makes me smile to see them all then – Bisnonno Vitale, Granny Maddalena, my dad as a young boy in his best clothes, great-uncle, Vince, Nanna Francesca still in her 20s, Nonno Anni in his work vest (lower centre) with his cousin, Tony, and Tony looking suave between two other fellows, Domenico and Achille, (top left).
It also makes my heart catch a little that they met there so Nonno Anni didn’t have to close the milk bar, even on a Sunday, since people came there after going to church or visiting at the hospital close by.
All the hours my grandparents worked and the decades of holidays they didn’t take so that their children and grandchildren could have different lives, hopefully easier lives. The way so many who are migrants or from poorer beginnings sacrifice and work tirelessly with love and a generous spirit. It’s very humbling to me, especially as, two generations on, I’m able to pursue my dream to write and for this, I’m very grateful – to all of you too. Thank you for your interest in these stories. Zoë 💛 xx
PS. When I was about nine – the age my dad is in a photo here – and cousin Tony was again visiting, we went to Surfers Paradise and I was allowed to get a lift in Tony’s Mercedes while the rest of the family followed in their regular cars. I just couldn’t believe it – my first time in such a car! 😄 And I still remember Tony’s kind grin at seeing my amazement.
PPS. Nonno Anni later replaced the Tristrams sign with the red and white ‘Milk Bar’ one that lit up. The same sign I wrote about in, Joe’s Fruit Shop and Milk Bar that got covered by the flood in 2011.
A post script – there were too many little incidents to include them all in, 
Perhaps I was a bit too sentimental in my previous post, (I can be at the best of times!) It might’ve been because Wyandra Street features so strongly in my family history and now, little remains of how the area once was and another bit will soon vanish. But I accept life keeps going on, change happens and so it is. In the meantime, we connect and live on in our stories and I feel very blessed to be able to share these stories with you and to hear yours in return. Gentile auguri! Zoe xx
Zoë Boccabella 