A Cup of Tea with Billy Connolly

A pot of tea solves most problems.

First Australians enjoyed a herbal brew made from native plants. There was tea aboard the First Fleet. In 1882, Alfred Bushell opened the first tea shop in Queensland. His sons would form the Bushell’s Company in Sydney during 1899.

Much loved Scottish Comedian, Billy Connolly recently offered in his lament, the melancholic television series, Made in Scotland, “But tea is the best substance in the world. Tea, I love tea. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel jolly. Tea is the substance,” he said.

Connolly, like many working-class Brits, fell victim to the dreaded drink but is now considered a pin-up for teetotalism; a term used by the Preston Temperance Movement to demand abstinence from alcohol in the 1830’s.

Kath & Kim stars and writers Gina Riley and Jane Turner created every episode at Turner’s house. They would drink coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon to fuel and replenish their creative juices.

In our family, tea is almost as essential as potatoes.

My young life was defined by “spuds” with the staple food accompanying most meals most nights of every week. Noted, we did branch out with the occasional Asian dish - Chow Mein prepared in an electric frypan although there were probably starchy potatoes present that couldn’t be detected.

Baked, boiled, jacket, mashed, and leftovers fried for breakfast accompanied steak, chicken, eggs and bacon, or fish. Yet to this day, I am the only one entrusted to mash the spuds at home. It is not worth the risk to delegate responsibility because any trace of lumps will render the dish inedible.

Only friends from North Eastern Tasmania fully appreciate the importance of a creamy mash; an artwork often puréed with just a fork, and home to acres of Dutch Creams where one potato can feed a family.

Modern kitchen appliances have attempted to perfect mashed potatoes, but the texture is all wrong. Nothing can match butter, milk, your trusty potato masher, and elbow grease expended with a slight shoulder tilt to the preferred side.

Readers may surmise that it was Newcastle Brown or Guinness Draught accompanying adults at our family meals when we were growing up. Not even close – it had to be tea. Black and strong served with a stain of milk.

The brew would be stewed when dinner was plated. The kettle was boiled – two spoonsful of Robur plus one for the pot, and then placed on the electric hob and brought back to the boil! The tea was ready when you could smell it. Dad received the final pour from the stainless-steel teapot, an engagement present circa 1970, because it would drain the contents and be the strongest.

I am not one for flavoured tea, “unless that’s all there is”. Japanese green accompanies my monthly plasma blood donation as it increases flow. Placebo or not – it works for me.

Mrs W. drinks all sorts of flavoured and herbal varieties. From Earl Gray and Lady Gray to Strawberries and Cream and Chai, the colouration of the poured product is far from infused. Weak, milky chai is her current desire. Growing-up my family had an adjective to describe this type of brew – “Insipid!” I lament the disposal of the teabags because they really should be used again.

My knowledge of tea and its benefits allowed me to mix business with pleasure. Tea has the power to calm. Agitated parents would be offered a cup, which I would make with them to engage in more pleasant conversation than the reasons for the meeting. Then there is the relief teachers’ curse, selecting a staff member’s mug rather than, more prudently, picking a vessel from the visitor’s set. A classic rookie error by young and eager to please educators.  My favourite teacup says Happy Mother’s Day. It may not have been regifted to me courtesy of the annual school stall, but it drinks beautifully.

A carefully crafted mash of North East potatoes and a pot of tea has the power to solve problems. It’s remarkable how such simple pleasures can make a difference.

“That’ll do me,” I must boil the kettle.