ROLF HARRIS: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY
(Corgi Books)
The 390-page autobiography of Rolf Harris – a professional Australian – is largely an ego trip down memory lane.
The book was ghost written by Mark Robotham.
Although the text of Rolf’s book is decidedly self-centred, occasionally nodding tributes to wife, Alwen, and daughter, Bindi, the greater substance of this superficial account is the recurring presence of his father, Cromwell (“Crom”) Harris, and his sensible elder brother, Bruce Harris.
Harris’ superficiality is probably best exemplified when describing how he came into possession of the popular old song, “Two Little Boys.”
Given to him by Alice Springs singer, Ted Egan, Rolf writes thus: “Ted was a real man’s man, who had grown up in the Territory” (untrue – Egan grew up in the northern suburbs of far-away Melbourne) “and loved every spike of spinifex … He also spoke several of the native languages fluently” (untrue – Egan’s knowledge of Aboriginal dialects would, at best, be fragmentary), etc., adding more fictitious mythology to an already over-mythologised figure.
As Rolf Harris travelled the work in pursuit of applause, Alwen Harris felt compelled to put her own development as a sculptor on hold as she tried to provide a secure base for her family.
At times her plight bordered on despair, it was revealed, as her husband’s career and needs dominated their lives.
Daughter, Bindi, grew from a precocious child to deeply resent her Dad’s need to keep the fans happy, often neglecting his own family as he did so.
At one point Bindi told her father: “Do you know that you pay more attention to any child who stops you on the street than you pay to me?”
Alwen added: “You’ve always been like that. You seem to think members of the public have some prior claim on you. You forget that we’re your family … It’s as if you have time for all in the world, but no time for us …”
Rolf reflected at last: “For the sake of Bindi and Alwen I had to change. It was a hard lesson to learn and I’m not there yet.”
Lurking underneath the singer’s reminiscent tone, the reader can sense the frustration of those closest to him, who endured the ego and overwhelming vanity of an “Australian” entertainer who spent most of his life overseas, exploiting the icons of the country – the Aborigines, didgeridoos, kangaroos, etc – while he quietly neglected his creative integrity.
His stalwart old Dad once remarked to a friend in Bassendean: “I was disappointed when he went into show business. I always wanted him to be an artist.”
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