MS CASTLEY (Yerrabi) (3.00), by leave: I begin my first speech by acknowledging the traditional owners of the Australian Capital Territory, the Ngunnawal people, and pay my respects to their culture and their elders.

As a country music singer, I have performed in pubs and clubs all over the ACT and Australia wide, but this gig of politics is one I never saw coming. For this proud chick from Charny, it is still sinking in.

A few weeks ago the Assembly staff addressed me, “Ms Castley, may we order some new crockery for your office?” No-one has ever spoken to me in that way. Working in office admin in Kingston many years ago, I remember my boss sighing as she said, “Oh, Leanne, can you sound less Charnwood and more Kingston?” The perks and privileges for politicians, the deferential treatment—it throws me. Few people receive their own free car space and, with the politicians’ car park being right next to the public one, I am conscious of that privilege—evidenced every day as I see ordinary workers lining up to pay for their parking tickets. Having said that, I have enormous respect for our parliamentary democracy; so I humbly come into this place with my head held high, vowing to “smash it” for the people in my electorate of Yerrabi.

As I have said, I am a proud chick from Charny. Think 1980s V8 Commodores, beat-up Datsuns, footy shorts, mullets, flannelette shirts and hanging out at the Charny shops in desert boots and black jeans. School was Flynn Primary and Charnwood High. But school did not interest me. I just wanted to get out and earn money, get on with life. Sewing and cooking were my fortes. I was Suzy Homemaker and my year 10 sewing project was my hot pink taffeta dress for my year 10 formal.

My first job was when I was 14, in a sewing shop, but the lady was always cranky and she never paid me; so I knocked on the door of Charnwood Dental Surgery to apply for a dental assistant position. Graham Shaw interviewed me on the spot and I got the job. I have worked on and off for Graham for years and, with the two ex-husbands, I often joke that he has been the most stable man in my life.

Canberra has been good to my family, and we needed it to be. I was five when dad left mum. The three of us—mum, Lorraine; my older brother, Barton; and I—moved to the ACT from Sydney. Mum’s sister, Auntie Lou, was here and mum’s parents had a sheep and cattle farm at Bookham, beyond Yass. My fondest childhood memories are weekends and school holidays at the farm, mustering sheep at shearing time, riding dirt bikes with my cousins, turning off the highway onto the long dirt road, and sitting on my grandparents’’ knee and steering the car all the way up to the farm house. And so began my love of big engines and motors.

Mum, Barton and I were a team, and mum did what she needed to survive. At times we were completely broke. Barton and I knew that money was tight and felt the weight of that. Mum was a nurse. She worked four days on and four days off, and I will never forget the day she came home with her first pay cheque, just waving it out the car window as she drove in the driveway. “Get in the car,” she yelled, “we’re going to Pizza Hut for dinner.” So we headed straight to Kippax, only to be kicked out of the restaurant because Barton did not have shoes on. We got takeaway instead.

Mum is a fighter, and so am I. So are the people in my electorate of Yerrabi; so we are a great fit. I am proud to say that I have always worked. I once worked as an office cleaner, with shifts starting at 5 am and 9.30 pm. I strongly believe that people who can work should work, particularly young people. Work is not punishment, nor about control or power. Work is good. It gives dignity and promotes wellbeing. Having said that, life is tough, and I understand that there are times when people cannot work, for family and health reasons; and those people need care and support.

My first full-time job after school was as an accounts clerk at Gerald Slaven Holden in Belconnen, which I loved—50 blokes, three girls and a yard full of grease and engines. I did the accounts and mastered the 12-line telephone system and drove a stack-load of cars to Dickson Motor Registry to pick up the new numberplates. The fellas helped me buy my first motorbike when I was 18.

I do love my bikes and cars. It is great to know that you can wrangle a machine. There is just nothing quite like the rumble of a big engine. I had a great time stripping my HZ Kingswood, which had a 350 Chev engine in it, and I ended up having to sell that one for furniture because I had no money. Another inner rev-head was Australia’s Dame Nellie Melba, one of the first women to sing the praises of the horseless carriage. The prima donna kept a motor on three continents.

My first husband was a salesman at the car yard where I worked, and we married three weeks before I turned 21. I had my son, Lachlan, when I was 22, and my daughter, Bethany, at 28. Life was good. We owned three successful car yards, employed five staff, made lots of money and bought a big house in Fraser.

I salute the courage of small family businesses, because it takes a stack of courage to start and run a business, take on the responsibility of staff and slog it out day after day to make it work. It was at about this time that I also recorded my country music album Perfect Day. “Perhaps I will become a music sensation,” I thought, “and get my hands on a Golden Guitar.”

But running a business is like riding a rollercoaster. You have got the thrilling highs and crushing lows. Our success did not last, and unpaid bills pounded us and the debt collector came knocking on the door. At times we were so skint that mum kept us in food. I became a Tupperware lady and turned my spare bedroom into a beauty parlour, doing waxing and pedicures to put food on the table.

Life is never easy. We liquidated the business, lost the house and the marriage went too. I moved into mum’s house, rang my old boss and asked for a job to start a new chapter in my career—in IT of all things. This is for a girl who thought clouds were in the sky and networks were a bunch of professionals. Talk about sink or swim! My first role was on an IT helpdesk. They trained me, and we were all grateful.

I gained a diploma in project management and landed roles at the AFP and Defence, managing teams of up to 10 people, setting off from home each morning with my packet of soup and cup in my handbag, hot-desking it with the masses—a far cry from “Ms Castley, may we order some new crockery for your office?” My second marriage was not a success, but it helped me learn more about myself—that I can be resilient; nothing can break me.

When it comes to politics, this chick from Charny does not fit the mould. I may have smashed the mould, which I think would be a good thing—not for me any union official background, starting as a political staffer, raging and recruiting in the Young Liberals or Labor movement. When I was growing up, politics was not really discussed around the table because we rarely ate dinner at the table. Mum would often finish her shift at 9.30 pm; so she would leave the defrosted chops and sausages on the sink and the saucepan with the potatoes and saltwater and carrots, and Barton and I would come home and we would cook our veggies and mash them up, and we would grill the meat and we would eat our dinner in front of the TV watching Cop Shop or A Country Practice.

While I confess to having quiet moments when I think, “How on earth did I end up here,” I also think, “Why shouldn’t I be here?” I want to show that someone from a normal, average background can be elected to parliament and succeed. As for political labels like “conservative” or “progressive”, they mean nothing in my part of town. The only label you can slap on me is “battler”.

Why do we in politics put ourselves in such limiting groups and play political games behind factional walls, eyeing each other with suspicion—not to mention the greed and corruption we all too often see and read about, the ego trips, power plays and dirt sheets, the so-called political kingmakers who know how to sharpen knives but not much else? In so many ways politics has become toxic. No wonder ordinary people have had a gutful.

It concerns me that the Labor government have been in power for so long that they seem to have lost touch with the Canberra battlers. That term may seem an oxymoron to some in this place and to some people in our community, but I know that there are many out in the burbs like me: just proud, hardworking people and parents wanting to better themselves and their lives; mums and dads and partners who want their kids to have a good education, to learn good manners and values, and to have good jobs and opportunities that they did not have. Robert Menzies famously called them the forgotten people, the backbone of Australia, too often taken for granted by government and effectively powerless because they lack connections.

The quiet Canberrans, that is who we are, living outside the Canberra bubble. We often hear of the Canberra bubble, and in some ways it is true. Being a public service town does make us different. Just last month came a headline in the Canberra Times, “Public sector an economic safe haven”, referring to new ABS data showing that no sector had grown as much during COVID-19 as the public sector. Public sector wages have also increased while plummeting in almost all other sectors.

Yerrabi residents are younger than the Canberra average, and more work full-time than the norm; but most are not cocooned in the economic safe haven of the public sector. They are clerical staff, community workers, technicians, tradies, salespeople and labourers.

Let me share with you a little more about the great people I have been elected to represent. Yerrabi residents are more likely to be married and have kids and a mortgage than other Canberrans; and there are more migrants in Yerrabi too. The area boasts bigger populations of Chinese, Indians, Vietnamese and Sri Lankans—all family minded people who work hard and want to improve their communities. Yerrabi people want to get on. The electorate is my home too, and it is the place I want to be.

It is a thrill to be out and about in Yerrabi. As I said last week at Palmerston District Primary School, if this is what being a politician involves then bring it on. We all know we have got great teachers here in Canberra in our schools. We boast an Aria-nominated music teacher of the year, CJ Shaw. He has taught at the school for more than three years. Last Wednesday night I joined the first rehearsal of the With One Voice Gungahlin Community Choir, which was started by the housing group Common Ground.

Last Friday I even got to meet Michael and Monica at their Aquaflo Irrigation business in Mitchell. The pair have been in business for 15 years, they employ over 15 people and have recently opened a shopfront. What legends! I just am so thrilled. Family businesses, small family businesses—the courage and huge contribution they make to Canberra and our economy—good on them.

You do not hear much talk nowadays about a strong work ethic, which is a shame because it suggests a professionalism, a reliability that seems to be lacking in some workplaces. Good manners appear to be fading too in a society that has become less civil and considerate and more combative and selfish. In the workplace it seems some people are more focused on their benefits than their responsibilities, more concerned with their entitlements and being able to dress down than showing loyalty and going the extra mile. These are generalisations of course but my attitude has always been: get to work and do your job, nurture a strong work ethic and show that you are keen, and you will always be employed and sought after.

In politics we talk about stakeholders. I have 89,850 of them and their average age is 32. They are the great people in my electorate of Yerrabi and they are the people that I have described to you. The issues, views and aspirations of my electorate—that is what matters to me. Yerrabi residents and families do not want politicians telling them what to do or how to live their lives. They can do that perfectly well on their own.

But they do want politicians to be honest, to listen and to fix problems, whether it is potholes in the street, keeping our reserves clean, providing facilities where families can enjoy barbecues and being outdoors with park benches, improving our environment, and reducing carbon emissions with sensible policies that do not break the bank. I assure the good folk of Casey, Crace, Forde, Franklin, Ngunnawal, Nicholls, Giralang, Hall, Kaleen and the rest that my two feet will stay firmly planted in Gungahlin’s soil.

Sadly, a recent report lamented that Gungahlin is still playing catch-up to the rest of Canberra when it comes to infrastructure and community facilities. The article said major roads had only recently been duplicated, the cinema is still coming, the police station needs an upgrade, the variety of shops is tiny compared to other town centres and there is a shortage of sports facilities, particularly indoor sports. Unfortunately, given that my electorate is the only electorate in the ACT that does not have a minister sitting around the cabinet table, I fear that the people of Yerrabi will continue to miss out when it comes to vital infrastructure and important community facilities.

It is a shame that Chief Minister Barr has chosen Labor and Greens ministers from Canberra’s four other electorates but neglected to give a powerful voice to Yerrabi. Instead, he has given ministries to four of the five MLAs in his own electorate of Kurrajong. The only Kurrajong member to miss out is our most capable opposition leader, Elizabeth Lee. Of course, we do hope Elizabeth’s time will come.

As a singer, may I use a singing analogy to describe how I approach my role, which I see is all about connecting with the people in Yerrabi. Singers are in the service industry. You are there to please; so no matter that you have sung Khe Sanh 1,650 times, if the request comes in, you belt it out the best way that you can, because the pub wants you to keep the patrons drinking and rocking on the dance floor. For me, the song that I have sung way too many times is The Gambler. When you do sing it, the crowd seems to come from miles to join you and you know that you have crossed over at a gig when the people let you into their night out.

So too with Yerrabi voters electing me. Just like the song, I will keep singing to keep the punters happy; so too I will serve the people who elected me, and I will not tire of that. Recently I read an extract from former Governor-General Sir Peter Cosgrove’s memoir. He pens the tale of an ordinary man who achieved high office and accomplished tasks with distinction and he writes:

… throughout my public life, I have been and remain a very ordinary person … I stand as an example that the jobs I have done aren’t just for those of the most marvellous capacity … but that an ordinary person can undertake these tasks effectively.

To my fellow residents in Yerrabi, I stand before you as a single mother of two, happy to point to my 23-year-old son and my 18-year-old daughter as my proudest achievements. A single mother who once stocked vending machines, I would use my own van, which I had for music gear, and trek to Fyshwick. I would load up the massive eskies with chips, chocolates and drinks and haul them around on a trolley. One of the sites was JB Hi-Fi. I would park in their loading zone and wheel in the loot.

I have also taught singing lessons, I have been a paid tuckshop lady at my kids’ school and worked as a trade assistant for a mechanic, doing oil changes for the cars and picking up the new discs and spare parts. I am the chick from Charny and I will not lose that. That is who I am. If I can show, like Sir Peter Cosgrove, that this gig of politics is not just for those of “the most marvellous capacity” but for the hardworking, ordinary family battlers like me, I would see that as achievement indeed.