I came up to Canada in 1960.. or was it 1961? Anyway I had been issued my first ever passport from the Australian Consulate in San Francisco and I even remember the vice- consul's name. Keith Brown.
He was a decent bloke but when I had first approached the office a few days before, he seemed reluctant to believe I was an Aussie.
After questioning me for a  few minutes he told me frankly.
"Mr Williams (if that is who you are.) you might be Australian but you don't sound like one and possibly
 you are an American trying to get to Australia."
At this point I regretted my perfect American accent, which I had cultivated so assiduously
during my illegal residence in the States and Mexico.Now I could not go back to the Aussie accent.
Keith Brown said " You might check out as an Australian as far as far as I can tell....but you have no papers at all.
Your story of how you left Australia, travelled through Mexico speaking Spanish which you admit
 you never studied  in Australia , entered the U.S.A. illegally....is all too fantastic.....However, I am going
to give you a chance to prove you are who you say you are."
He continued but looked doubtful.
" You realize, I hope that I will have to call the police, if I am not convinced by your story.
Do you want me to continue or do you just want to walk out of this consulate and we will forget you were ever here?"
"Go ahead ."
"Firstly what is the nickname of the  main newspaper in Sydney?"
"You mean the Sydney Morning Herald, the Daily telegraph, the Sun or the Mirror? I used to read the Mirror.
Actually I worked on the Telegraph as a copy-boy and I was offered  a journalist cadetship but the pay for the first year was so low, I went over to Proud's the jewellers' advertising department and became a junior copywriter. To my regret."
"You have not answered the question, Cedric."
"I guess you are alluding to the Sydney Morning Herald that my father works for as an electrician. It is commonly known as Granny Herald."
"Correct. Now you say you went by electric train from Sutherland to Central daily for a number of years.
 Do you think you might recall some of the train stations?"
"Sure, counsel, let's see...." my mind went back to the innumerable boring suburban train trips to and from work.
The clouds of cigarette smoke even in the non-smoking compartments, the crowded aisles. Standing up waiting for the rare seats available. The memories came back.
"First, Sutherland, Jannalli, Como, Oatley, Penshurst, Hurstville, Allawha , Carlton..Kogarah, Rockdale. Arncliffe, Cooks River (no that's on another line..)There are a couple more, then Redfern then Central. Sorry, I can't remember them all. Did I pass?"
"Yes, good enough." replied Keith Brown. "Now how did you speak Spanish even imperfectly in Mexico."
He asked this question in Spanish with a heavy Aussie accent.
I understood and told him in my sort of mixed latin language which strangely enough was understood everywhere I went in Mexico.  I learned Latin for years in high school and got a special certificate for it. I also studied French and then was sort of married to an ex-teacher of French from the island of Corfu in the Adriatic and she spoke  French all the time to me.
As well, as a youth I spent some sweaty time with Sardinians and Calabrasi from Italy killing myself cutting cane in North Queensland.
When I arrived in Vera Cruz Mexico  disembarking from the ship I had stowed away in from Darling Harbour, Sydney I found that my mixed Latin dialect was more or less Espanol."
(It was not until years later when I visited my brother in Costa Rica my Spanish- fluent young nephews with beautiful accents made me realize how deficient I was. Even my brother Patrick was more fluent than I was, though his language was, shall I say, "of the people" mixed with frequent swear words.)
Vice consul Brown left the room briefly and returned with a copy of "Granny Herald."
"Cedric, he said " I am going to leave you here with a copy of S.M.H.
Read it, study it and get your Aussie accent back. You have fifteen minutes to try. If you can speak like an Aussie then, I will issue you with a passport."
I sat there reading about the odds at Harold Park dog races and St George beat Balmain. There was a storm at the Heads and one bloke fishing on the rocks at North Head  had forgotten to tie himself with a rope to the ring in the rock-shelf. (I knew that place and even the same bloody ring.) Bloody Christ the poor bugger was swept away into the bombora, when a rogue wave broke over the silly drongo!"
When Keith Brown returned I was talking like any dinkum Aussie with a Sutho accent like I had just come up the hill from the Woronora River fishing for bream with my Alsatian dog Peter trotting ahead of me watching out for snakes or  blue-tongued lizards. ."
I got my passport.
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