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In a nutshell he was a permanently damaged hippy with a suspicious family history and a father in high places. As he opened his second beer, he confessed to being manic depressive, or in the new money - bi-polar. Already, this was not that much of a surprise to any of us, so we listened as he rambled and were sympathetic when he broke down. After a couple of hours Our Boys (being Baron Quinkin, Jumpin' Jolt and DJ Beanie) gently packed him off home while we settled down to shake our heads, marvel and feel sad for the stories we had heard.

As the year passed, we got to know Barry very well. He was so glad to have pleasant uni student neighbors that he would become a fixture that year. We went hooning out to a party in the hills with him, that was beautiful, and a little nerve-wracking. He would share anything he had with particularly Our Boys, leading to them sometimes coming home in interesting states. DJB once spent the better part of the day in the shower before enough of us were home to figure something was wrong. Barry was a very damaged, lonely old hippy who just wanted friends, and we became those friends for the year.

When he was upset with us, often more due to the bi-polar than anything else, he would hose the side of our house. We thought he'd oded or died one night as the song 'Broken English' could be heard blaring on repeat for about four hours. Finally The Boss (this was how Barry referred to Geo Jane and I collectively) insisted something had to be done. Our Boys took off to break down his door and call an ambulance. The Boss stood on the veranda as the boys went over, just in case there was anything we could do. Suddenly we heard an all too familiar tickety-tack coming down the road and looked up to see Barry resplendent in his favorite outfit: any old shirt he could find matched with what must have once been a beautiful pair of suede jeans which had (proudly) not been washed since 1970-something; for his feet, nothing but the previously mentioned thigh-high stilettos would do. This striking combo was topped off with the filthy Akubra and vinyl raincoat. As you can imagine we were none too impressed, especially when he explained he'd been to a party and was worried about someone breaking into his flat so had left the stereo on to make people think he was at home.

Barry had trouble keeping to his meds which resulted in his paranoia becoming overactive often. Many's the time one or the other of Our Boys climbed through windows as he had dead-bolted both doors and hidden the key for safety. GJ and I were not tall enough to rescue him, but we both spent many afternoons sitting outside one of his doors keeping him company.

To this day we all think of Barry and hope he is doing better. He was brilliantly intelligent, creatively talented, compassionate to a fault and completely barking mad. He had experienced so much in his young life and retreated so far into his own mind and drugs that in his middle age it was difficult to see the real Barry unless you were patient and looked hard. He certainly did some things we were unhappy with, but never more than once. He treated us all with more respect and dignity than most sane people are capable of. Barry was unarguably one of the weirdest neighbors we ever had,but he will also be one of those that we remember most fondly.

*A stubby is a small bottle of beer of 375 mL capacity which is comparable in popularity in Australia to tin cans.

Learn more about this author, Marcelle Mccallum.
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