Ben Harvey: I’m a Rockingham convert and I promise to never crack another neck tattoo joke

Depending on how Rockingham takes this column, it could be my last. If you bought last week’s edition of The Sunday Times you might recall that I was asked to come down to WA’s most maligned suburb by its mayor, who thought I had been a bit, errr, willing in my criticism of her city. I had a wonderful time being shown around the place by Deb Hamblin and her chief executive, Michael Parker, and the first of the two-part coverage of that little tour was generally received well. A quarter of a century in journalism has shown me that people are fickle. Who knows how they will react to this bit. So, once more unto the breach. What do you think of when you read the words “Rockingham” and “culture”? Street fights? Yoghurt? Editor’s note: Not a great start, Harvey. “There are a lot of misconceptions,” Michael said as we drove around the suburbs. “If you come down for Symphony on the Green in February, you’ll be amazed at what we offer.” The West Australian Symphony Orchestra at twilight a stone’s throw from the beach? Not bad. “And thousands of people come down each year for the Castaways Sculpture Awards,” he added. “That’s a fantastic drawcard.” The event just wrapped up and I am pleased to report that not one of the pieces of art was stolen or set on fire. I’m thinking about entering next year’s competition with a life-sized statue of Mark McGowan inserting a COVID nasal swab into his right nostril. I’ll even give him a mullet so the locals are less likely to graffiti it. Editor’s note: You’re on thin ice, Harvey. Everyone loves “the yartz”, as Sir Les Patterson used to say, but that’s not a primary reason for someone to move to a new suburb. “We are always mindful of the need for local employment because we understand some people don’t want the commute,” Deb said, reading my mind. “The expansion of the naval base is going to be an amazing jobs creator.” Fleet Base West on Garden Island is undergoing an enormous upgrade so it can host Australia’s AUKUS submarines. It will cement Rockingham as the closest thing WA has to a proper Defence town. If you don’t believe me, believe Eric Chewning, who is executive vice-president of American military shipbuilding company Huntington Ingalls Industries. He was recently in Perth talking up the need to build up defence workforces. He wasn’t the first arms merchant to visit and AUKUS means he won’t be the last. “We had a delegation from the US Navy come out scoping accommodation for the personnel who will be stationed here,” Michael said. Don’t be surprised if the next time you come down everyone looks like Goose from Top Gun. “People used to come through Rockingham on the way down south but the Forrest Highway has ended that rite of passage,” Deb observed. “When people who haven’t been here for years do come down, they are amazed at how much the place has changed.” A drive to the end of Point Peron proved that not all things in this sprawling local government area have moved on with the times. “This needs a bit of investment,” Michael lamented with a sigh as we looked out from one of WA’s few truly north-facing beaches. This could be a seaside tourism gem, safe from the roaring south-westerlies that make afternoon beach-going like a scene from Twister. Instead, there aren’t even any toilets. There is, however, a handful of shacks that for decades have served as cheap-and-cheerful holiday accommodation for the Maritime Union of Australia. They aren’t kidding when they say “MUA! Here to stay!” “We’re almost on time for lunch,” Deb said as we pulled into a foreshore carpark. “Did you lock the car?” she asked Michael before smiling at me and quickly adding the rider “not that you need to, of course”. When most people (by which I mean me) think of lunch in Rocko they (me) think of something like a lamb doner with the lot. I blame Mark McGowan for his COVID gag about lockdowns not preventing people from going for a run while eating a kebab. A meal at Rustico on Rockingham Beach Road confounds expectations. First, there wasn’t a neck tattoo to be seen. Second, it was full to bursting on a Thursday at a time when most restaurants anywhere are struggling to fill seats. And third, the food and service were exceptional. Mind you, I was with the mayor and a news photographer, so everyone was likely on their best behaviour. At the end of lunch, a waiter appeared at the table. “And this is on the house, courtesy of the bogans of Rockingham,” she said as she put a drink on the table. I was expecting a local favourite — perhaps a flagon of wine or a warm bush chook. Nope, it was a very well-made Old Fashioned, which I enjoyed drinking as much as the dozen locals who probably gobbed in it enjoyed watching. I won’t go on about the place any more because I think I have paid my dues. For what it’s worth, I liked Rockingham enough to voluntarily come back down on the train today for the annual horse race on the beach. Oh, and I forgot to mention the very best thing about Rockingham: it isn’t Mandurah. Editor’s note: Why do you do it, Harvey?