Many Yugoslav immigrants shared my West Auckland suburb, relieved at escaping a nation that had known so much grief during the first half of the twentieth century. Yet they surely missed things - cafés, markets, farm smells, local humour, weary blues, old buildings, the ruins of history, messy everyday stuff that knits a community's soul. And the Gypsies. I bet, tucked up in their suburban comfort, hearing the sound of lawnmowers and sprinklers, radios and TVs, they missed the chatter and music and nuisance of the Gypsies.
- Garth Cartwright, Princes amongst men, p.146-147
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