I had the incredible privilege of meeting Tom Bojko back in I think 1993 and helping him sell his home. His wife had recently died and he was living alone in his modest Cannington home and never have I met a more beautiful soul or more sharing spirit.
We were able to sell the property quite quickly but before we did I had some great fellowship as a very young man communing with a wiser, well-travelled and more humble character than I.
Tom was somewhat heartbroken at the loss of his wife and he shared briefly about their lives and coming to Australia but I don’t recall the detail so I expect he was somewhat closed lipped on the detail surrounding his Ukrainian past and migration. What I do remember is the man. He was born in 1906 and so by 1993 he was already 87 years of age. I’d say he was spritely for a man even 20 years his junior. I can picture him in his ill-fitting trousers tied up with a belt and wearing- most days- only a white bonds singlet tucked into those. His face was bright and round and hair thinning to baulding. His smile and cheerful demeanour; so infectious. After 40 years here his English was excellent but he still spoke with an enchanting thick accent.
He always had cheese or other snacks on offer and insisted that we share together. It was summer time I expect and I recall the heat in his meals area with its unfinished jarrah floor and the 70’s Metal trimmed laminate dining table with matching tube steel vinyl covered chairs. We sat there and warmly chatted (actually he did most the chatting and I soaked it up) and ate. One visit tom was telling me about his musical ability. He asked if I cared to hear him play a song on his balalaika, of course I enthusiastically insisted that I did. What a fantastic sensory experience. Not only did he play but he sang in, I guess Russian. His voice was alto /tenor-ish I expect (not that I’m expert) and perhaps due to his age had a natural vibrato. The balalaika is a triangular stringed instrument I guess a little like a mandolin and he play it the way I recall my mother playing the mandolin, with a rapid up and down action across the strings. I hope you’re getting the picture; it was very beautiful and memorable. When he finished his performance he explained that he was singing about the cherry blossoms falling and I think love in the winter time. Australian Male readers may be reading and questioning what two men are doing relating this way but I tell you this was a moment that no man could fail to appreciate, so any question about the context must be a failing in my ability to recount.
After we sold his home he moved to a hostel in Mount Lawley. I drove him there on one occasion. He was very comfortable with the change or at least if he wasn’t he kept that to himself. Amazing that a man that has obviously been through so much finds happiness and contentment in whatever his situation.
He was really delighted with the real estate sale outcome and determined to reward me for my effort and success. I cheerfully argued with him that our offices fee was reward enough but he persisted that he wanted to do something for me and his thought was he would like to buy me a new suit. Our industry is very well regulated and so I went to my licensee and asked could I accept a gift, we decided that if his family didn’t mind perhaps he could express his appreciation in buying me a pair of Shoes. I called his daughter and she shared that her father was very aware and capable of making decisions and that I should allow him to purchase this gift for me. So he buttoned a white business shirt over his singlet and we went shopping.
To Tatyana I say thanks for allowing him to do that for me because the shoes have long since worn out but my memory of the shopping experience and the beautiful sentiment will die with me.
I never caught up with him again after he moved to Mount Lawley. That reflects poorly on me and I’m sorry for that, but I’m very pleased that he lived another 11 years to bless the lives of all the people he would have encountered at the hostel.
I think my recollection is very poignant in a period when refugees and our management of the issue is so politicised. Tom was a great Australian and I’m so glad we opened our nation to him and his family back in the 1940’s we are very much richer for that. The American nation state thrived 100 years ago on the back of migration. I think our cultural landscape also owes much to migration of recent generations, it’s not all good but I can tell you this is one anecdote that shouts “great”.

Thu 22 Oct 2015