¶ SUBCULTURE

PHOTOGRAPHED BY ADRIAN MALLOCH

XX / METRO / SEPTEMBER 2008

A family affair
Four generations of New Zealand Dalmatians have
celebrated their culture through the music and dance
of the kolo. Robert Tighe reports.

N
atalija Sumich can’t believe her luck. On stage the 10 members of the tamburica band,
The six-year-old has one end of the which includes a couple of guitars, a pair of piano
Villa Dalmacija dance floor to accordions, a double bass and a selection of tamburicas
herself. Sumich is giddy with — stringed instruments similar to the mandolin or the
excitement as she flits between Russian balalaika — play a medley of traditional
mimicking the steps of the dancers at the opposite end Yugoslav folk tunes to accompany the dancers.
of the floor, improvising some interesting moves of her The music is a mixture of polkas and waltzes. Helen
own, and jumping up and down on the spot, all the Marinovich, whose father Mark was one of the driving
time with a huge smile on her face. forces behind the first tamburica band and kolo group
Dancing is in her blood. Her great-grandmother, in New Zealand in 1935, sings the songs that speak of
Milka Sumich (nee Simunovich), danced in the first love and loss, mothers and sons, cabbage and swedes.
kolo group in New Zealand in 1935 and her father, “Some of the translations are funny, things like ‘Go
Peter Sumich, is an instructor and lead dancer in the and tell Auntie Kate I’m cooking cabbage,’” says
senior kolo group of the Dalmatian Cultural Society. Marinovich.“Sometimes there isn’t a literal translation
It is a stormy mid-winter’s Sunday night and, in less and when you translate them they can be a bit cutesy
than 48 hours, nine couples from the senior kolo group and a bit simple and they lose some of their meaning.
will dance at a function in the Beehive in Wellington But they are very emotional songs for our people. There
to celebrate 150 years of Dalmatians in New Zealand. is a lot of pride in the songs, a lot of pride in the home
Tonight is the first and last dress rehearsal. The 18 country, a lot of pride in the kolo.”
dancers and their instructor Frank Vujnovich are
discussing how the dance will work in the confines of
the function room at Parliament Buildings. They are
used to dancing on the 15m x 12m polished wooden
floor of the Dalmatian Cultural Society clubrooms. In
the Beehive, they will be restricted to a space measuring
just 8m x 8m.
“It will be very cramped,” admits Vujnovich, the
group’s silver haired, 69-year-old instructor who
started dancing the kolo in 1956. “We probably should
have cut two couples but it is too late now.”
The couples performing in Wellington are from the
“oldies” group who practise on Wednesday nights and
the “youngies” who meet every Sunday night in the
spacious clubrooms just off New North Road. The kolo
is danced by toddlers as young as two and by babas
(grandmothers) and didas (grandfathers) as old as 86.
Normally kolo practice is a relaxed affair; a chance to
catch up with friends and work up a sweat at the same
time. Tonight there is a more serious note to
proceedings.
“Come on, pick it up, pick it up,” shouts Vujnovich as
he interrupts the band to tell off the dancers.“You know
where you made the mistake. Let’s do it again. From
the beginning, 1-2-3,” he says counting the band in.

METRO / SEPTEMBER 2008 / XX

 The kolo is a circle dance and variations of the kolo
are danced throughout the Balkan region. Couples
hold each other by the hand or around the waist and
move in, out and around the circle in a skipping
motion. The dancers clap their hands in time with the
music and the occasional whoop-whoop of
encouragement and excitement punctuates the air. In
parts it resembles morris dancing without the sticks
while towards the end there is a sequence that looks
remarkably like a can-can with synchronised head
turns and high kicking.
The New Zealand kolo has its origins in the village
of Cilipi on the Croatian coast, north of Dubrovnik.
But it has evolved and been added to since it was first
danced here in the 1930s.
“Ours is quite a buoyant kolo,” says Teresa
Marinovich. “It is a very positive and uplifting kolo
and there is a great energy to it.”
And it is physically demanding. There are 12 phases
to the 13-minute kolo and each phase has its own
steps. By the end of the first practice, many of the
XX / METRO / SEPTEMBER 2008
dancers are blowing hard and layers of clothing are
being discarded. Yet despite their exertions, Vujnovich
isn’t impressed by their efforts.
“I wouldn’t give you guys a pass mark for that,” he
says after the first run through. “There were so many
mistakes and half of you were talking to each other.
The effort, the passion was lacking. Passion comes
from here,” he says, pointing to his heart. “You are
going to represent 150 years of our people. Go out
there and be proud. We are going to go out there again
and kick it better than that.
Behind his gruff exterior, Vujnovich obviously cares
for the dancers and he is careful not to push them too
hard ahead of the Wellington gig.
“There are a couple of people carrying injuries so we
will just do one more run through with your costumes.
But make sure to check all your gear. I don’t want to
see your sashes around your stomach.”
Before the group change into their costumes, the
club president Ivan Pamich addresses the dancers. “As
you know the Croatian nations were under subjugation
“Passion comes from
here,” he says, pointing
to his heart. “You are
going to represent 150
years of our people. Go
out there and be proud.
We are going to go out
there again and kick it
better than that.”
SUMSANDR ERAESTO DOLESTO CONSEQUISIM DOLUPTAT LORE MIN
HENT LOBOR AT. UT ING EL DOLOR IUSCIPIT VOLESSISL EXERAESSENT
AT.GUEROSTO EA CONSEQU IPSUMSAN ESEQUIPISI TATEM ZZRIUSTIE
for many, many years. We survived by maintaining our
language and our song and our dance and you people
are the ones to carry that forward. I thank you very
much for the time you are taking and I hope you
present us to the highest level in Parliament in
Wellington and I look to you to do your best.”
G E O R G E M I H A L J E V IC H i s re s p o n s i b l e fo r
organising the trip to Wellington and he advises the
dancers of the dress code in the Beehive, the flight
details and what they can expect at the function. He
explains that they are the first group to perform and
although they have only been allocated 10 minutes to
dance their 13-minute kolo he tells them not to
worry.
“We are on first so the others will have to wait for
us,” he says with a smile.
He also makes an interesting suggestion. “It is usual
when you finish the kolo to dance with some of the
spectators. So just see what the reaction is and take it
from there. But Peter if I was you, I’d grab Auntie
Helen and Teresa could grab John Key and maybe we
could get them dancing together.”
The dancers change out of their civvies and Converse
sneakers (Converse seems to be the sneaker of choice
amongst the younger Dalmatian dancers) and into the
embroidered satin dresses, gace (trousers), blousons,
boleros, opanke (shoes) and kape (hats) that have been
worn by generations of kolo dancers. The costumes
bring a nostalgic timelessness to the scene, a sense that
the dancers could be in a hall in a village in Croatia or
Bosnia or Serbia, any time in the last century.
“Make sure your hair is right. I don’t want anyone
swatting flies away from their hair and I don’t want
any of you losing any part of your costume,” says
Vujnovich. “And remember you are only as good as
your practice. If you practice slack you will be slack
when you go to Wellington on Tuesday.”
As the dancers prepare for the final run-through, an
old lady who had been helping out with the costumes
leans on the shoulder of one of the old men sitting on
the edge of the dance floor and says, “I do love this
kolo, you know.”
There are some compliments for the dancers from the
oldies in the cheap seats but also some tut-tut-tuting
as they shake their heads at any missteps or disrespect
towards the kolo. George Mijhalovich tells me there
should be no fiddling or scratching. They should all be
smiling and have their chins up and shoulders back.
But as Peter Sumich explains, these dancers are not
professional. They dance once a week for three hours
so mistakes are to be expected.
“When we danced at the world folklore festival in
Zagreb in 1989, we were voted the best group. And we
sometimes trained to the point it got so professional, it
became boring and it was hard work,” says Sumich at
the end of the practice.“So we have reverted to a more
social atmosphere. The aim is to keep people together
and keep them coming to the club rather than crack
the whip.”
Sam Cropp has been coming to the club for the last
five years. She is the only dancer in the group without
any roots in the Balkans. Her parents are English and
Italian and she was a reluctant visitor to the club with
her boyfriend when she was 14 years old.
“I actually didn’t want to dance initially but once I
did I just loved it,” says Cropp. “It is such a family-
oriented place.”
“We are like a family,” agrees Jelena Vukasinovic,
who was born in New Zealand but grew up in
Montenegro.“We all take the piss out of each other but
we all look out for each other as well. I love it. I
absolutely love it. You can come here and forget about
all your crap. It is great to come here on Sunday nights
and get away from our normal Kiwi lives. And we have
such an awesome time on our trips away. We are so
excited about the trip to Wellington.”
Peter Sumich rings me after their performance in
Wellington to tell me the Dallie dancers rocked the
Beehive. Sadly Helen Clark and John Key didn’t dance
together. They didn’t dance at all. •
METRO / SEPTEMBER 2008 / XX