By CAM LUCADOU-WELLS
STAND-UP comedian Col Elliott has graduated far beyond being Lyndale High School’s class clown.
Elliott, 66, sprung onto the national and, at times, international stage with irreverent song and characters in the 1970s – etching him into the public imagination with racy contemporaries Rodney Rude and Kevin ‘Bloody’ Wilson.
He grew up in Lyndale’s concrete housing commission estate in the 1950s a few years after his family sailed out from England.
In those streets Elliott played cricket with kids in the neighbourhood, like the Journal’s former editor and scribe Phil McLeod.
He and his mates also liked to push a stick through ‘dunny flaps’ to poke people sitting on their backyard toilets.
Elliott recalls going to Lyndale High School with another successful, perhaps straighter-laced, entertainer John Farnham.
He quips that he should have invited Farnham to join him on his own Fair Dinkum Farewell Tour this year. When at school, Elliott didn’t do stand-up but was responsible for some unbridled dramas at one of the fetes.
Beforehand, principal “Mr Munroe” asked Elliott to hold pony rides.
Elliott’s choice of horse was the 14.2-hand unbroken filly Cindy that was kept in his family’s back yard.
She was normally mild-mannered except for being frightened of large vehicles.
Unfortunately, just as Elliott rode Cindy to the school gates on fete day, a Grenda’s bus rounded the corner.
She bolted in terror and “wrecked the joint”, Elliott said.
The pair hared towards a group of Highland dancers who were forced to jump from the stage with kilts, swords and bagpipes flying.
Elliott managed to hang on as Cindy scattered several stalls, galloped across sports fields and jumped a barbed wire fence.
Cindy and Elliott caught breath when she stopped in a nearby cabbage paddock.
After getting shouted down by a group of teachers, Elliott asked: “Does this mean it’s not ‘on’ for the pony rides?” There was no reply.
Elliott’s brand of humour still sells out venues. Part of his enduring value is “it’s not PC (politically correct),” he said.
He tells how he considered himself too young when he became a grandfather.
“Then I found a grey public hair. I didn’t freak out, not like the other people in the lift.”
There are some who say he’s not sensitive, much like other men, he said.
“I said to my wife that’s bulls***. What about your brother – he cries after sex. Mind you, he’s still in prison.”
He said he takes aim at Scots, Irishmen, Italians, kamikaze pilots and especially Kiwis – “the difference between a Kiwi and a photo is the photo is developed,” he adds as an aside.
Giuseppe Lasagne, one of his many stage characters, is based on a mate’s father, an Italian market gardener who he remembers with affection.
“The show’s not offensive – it’s the way you tell the gag.”
His well-known show opening runs along the lines of “if you’re offended by politically incorrect material, strong language… now might be a good time for you to f*** off.”
“It gets a huge laugh,” he said.
The springboard for his comedic career was entering a Melbourne TV talent show Kevin Dennis New Faces in 1973.
As he recalls, he hoped he would win enough money to buy a set of new tyres.
His cleaned-up-for-TV routine ended up winning the final, which funded the tyres as well as a keg of beer for his friends.
One of his first ever gigs was at the former Dandenong Redlegs football club. Elliott received $10 plus all he could drink as payment. “I took my brother along. We got value.
“You can’t print what I said (at the gig). It wasn’t even considered nice then.”
Along the journey, he survived a heart attack at 38. He’s now based on the Gold Coast with his wife of 44 years.
“I’m hoping to come down that way – I’ve still got mates I keep in touch with,” he said.
“I’d like to go to Dandenong Workers Club again.”
