‘After losing Mum, I also went through a terrible time’: Musician Troy Cassar-Daley

Troy Cassar-Daley is a country musician. The 55-year-old is best known for winning 40 Golden Guitar awards. Ahead, he shares how his maternal grandmother told him yarns around the fire, his first serious relationship at 16, and meeting his now-wife, Laurel.

Troy Cassar-Daley started guitar lessons at 10.

I spent the first 10 years of my life living with my maternal grandmother, Irene, and grandfather, Henry, in Grafton. I moved there from Sydney with my mum, Irene, when my parents’ marriage broke up.

Nan was a proud Gumbaynggirr woman. She was nurturing, firm and knowledgeable. She showed me how to sew on a button and darn a sock. She took us out on Country and told us yarns in front of the fire. She told us about being afraid of the welfare man’s black car as he might take her six kids. Nan kept a wet washer in the house. If she saw the car, she got it and wiped the kids’ faces. I was 10 when Nan died and it felt like my world had caved in.

My mum was incredibly tough. She worked as a cook on the trains. Being an only child, Mum was very much the person I counted on. She was a steady influence throughout my life. I always phoned her for the best possible advice.

After losing Nan and Pop, I went into a spiral of sadness. Our Sorry Business was deep. Mum grew flowers at Halfway Creek, the 103-acre property south of Grafton she’d bought with a railway loan. We’d take the flowers to the cemetery every weekend: that was my life.

I started guitar lessons at 10. My guitar teacher, Leonie, saw that sadness, but she also saw talent in a kid who needed to be nurtured. She encouraged me and made me laugh. She gave me the same things I got from Nan, Mum and my aunties and uncles: that beautiful thing called time.

My first serious girlfriend was a headstrong Indigenous girl. I was 16, and not headstrong myself. I struggled – I’d never been in a relationship that volatile.

TROY CASSAR-DALEY

Mum remarried when I was seven. I didn’t get along with my stepfather, so I lived with my dad in Sydney. When that marriage broke down, their daughter, Michelle, went with her dad. Once my stepfather was off the scene, I lived full-time again with Mum.

Mum kept a bedroom for Michelle. It tortured me to walk past that little door, knowing that my sister was somewhere, and I couldn’t give her a cuddle. Michelle was 18 when we first met. We keep in touch, and when we talk it fills my cup.

My first serious girlfriend was a headstrong Indigenous girl. I was 16, and not headstrong myself. I struggled – I’d never been in a relationship that volatile. It lasted into my 20s, but ultimately I couldn’t be in a relationship where I always felt ready to duck.

I met my wife, Laurel, in 1993, backstage after a gig at the Gympie Muster. This beautiful brunette came bounding up to me. We spoke for hours, and she got my number from the drummer. Laurel had her own career as a radio announcer. She was nowhere near a groupie.

Laurel had strength, a wonderful confidence and a beautiful spirit. I fell in love with her way earlier than she did with me. In three months, I was gone.

Laurel and I got married in Nashville in 1996. Our son, Clay, was three when our singer-songwriter daughter Jem was born. Her middle name is Irene. She carries that strong Gumbaynggirr lineage. I also see Laurel in her, too. I am so proud of Jem.

I was stuck in Perth on a tour when Mum died in 2022. When they took her out of her house, one of my cousins said: “Niney [Mum’s nickname] wins.” She died on Country in her home with the TV on, exactly where she wanted to be. When I heard that, it brought me peace.

It took me a long time to visit Mum’s house at Halfway Creek, but a big part of healing was to go there and sit by the fire we used to light.

After losing Mum, I also went through a terrible time with Laurel. It was like being in a car crash, hit from both the front and back. I felt like I was living between the fires, which inspired my new album’s title.

I recorded the album in Mum’s lounge room. I lit the fire every day to smoke and cleanse the house. Mum’s spirit was very much there, almost overseeing what was being made. The song “Somedays” is about Mum not being part of my life any more.

Between the Fires by Troy Cassar-Daley is out now.

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