The Ballad of a Bush Bash Christmas

Some Blokes from Penrith’s Rotary Club

Said, “Out west there is no pasture.

The drought has dried up all the land,

It’s an absolute disaster.

Let’s all put on our think’n caps

And help find a solution

Two years of drought is bleed’n bad

It’s far worse than bloody pollution.”

They held a committee meeting

To the club, put their ideas

Everyone was in agreement

They never fell on deaf ears.

They proposed that “We give some gifts

Providing some Christmas Cheer

Send blokes to hand out the pressies.

Let’s do it, it’s not that dear.”

Three fellows volunteered to go,

First was Chris our Pres Elect.

His business was in construction

With his plane he’d be perfect.

Past Pres, Trevor Hall’s hand went up

He’s a worthy engineer.

(He’ll hold his own with country lads,

When it comes to drink’n beer.)

Lastly there’s me, a humble bloke

Accountancy my career.

Not sure what I can contribute

But I can carry the gear.

We flew from Camden Aerodrome

In this tiny aeroplane.

How did we all cram into it?

Who can tell? Were we insane?

T’was the apple of Chris White’s eye

This Cesna 172

He dearly loved his prized toy

And told us what it could do

“She’ll land on a penny farthing,

and she’ll glide, seven to one.

The safest thing in the air, mate

So let’s all relax and have fun.”

On the twenty-first of December

In the year two thousand and two

Off we flew on that Saturday

Into the hazy grey hue

Just Trev and I, and pilot Chris

We left at the crack of dawn

Between the three a little brains

And with just a pinch of brawn

We flew over the Blue Mountains

To golden smoke stacks of Wang

Past the Mudgee vineyards to where

Castlereagh Coolabahs hang

Suddenly we’d reached Gilgandra.

As far as the eye could see,

Where grey sombre plains were dotted.

With an occasional tree.

The landscape, it stayed much the same

Till Walgett came into view

The burnt desert was depress’n

See’n earth where noth’n grew

Dams were empty and creeks were dry

How could the farmers survive?

Crops had failed, Cattle were gone,

Is it too late? Can it revive?

There were a few sheep still out there

They nibbled on leaf or stick.

But without a drink of water

The bushy’s bucket they’ll kick.

Landing and fuelling at Walgett

Chris said was a “clever case”

“Wouldn’t want to run out fuel,

Not in this desolate place”

We then steered a course for “Eurie”

A homestead near the black stump

Just South of the Queensland border

From the air twas a tiny bump

We landed on a grassless strip

They called it an aerodrome

We found it from dust spewed up by

The four wheel drive from the home

Forty K from Brewarrina

Had nature just surrendered?

It’s where the drought was first declared

Two years since rain descended

Here we met the owner called Dave

We parked the plane in his shed

He took us into his homestead

Drank beer with a frothy head

From there we went to Graham’s shack

A homestead just down the track

We travelled thirty K I guess

We’re now in the real outback

There’s a shimmer on the desert,

A mirage- I know it’s fake

It sure is cruel and confus’n

Cause it looks just like a lake

Graham gave us all some more beer

Showed us where we’d be stay’n

Ex-shearers quarters changed to

A place where guests were pay’n

Air conditioned, spotlessly clean

Our digs were more than O.K.

With Motel-like facilities

We foresaw a pleasant stay.

Cripes! It was nearly 2 o’clock

Our stomaches started rumbl’n

Graham said he’d feed us soon

This stopped our Trev from Grumbl’n

As hungry men do not waste time,

We drove to Bre for dinner.

“Bre,” I want to tell you, is what

Locals call “Brewarrina”

We went to the “Café Deluxe”

The best eat’n place in town

In truth there was no other place

But there was no need to frown

Above the Laminex tables

A motto was on the wall

“Servility and cleanliness”

The message touched us all

We all ordered the same dinner

The gourmet meal of the west

“The Mixed Grill”, the country special

we all knew that this was best

When we left the Deluxe Café

We were fully satisfied

We looked upon the wide main street

Not a single soul we spied

But then there was less than ten shops

Twas Saturday Afternoon

Perhaps everyone was inside

Sing’n or strumm’n a tune

A far out sight was an earth wall,

The town it was surround’n

It stood about four metres tall

And built to prevent flood’n.

Our host then drove us to look at

The world’s oldest construction

A maze in the River’s rocks,

Caught fish in this formation.

But enough of this sight see’n

We agreed and thought it best

That we all go back to our digg’n’s

For there we can take a rest

The idea was to grab a nap

To recharge us for the night

Trevor went to sleep right away

He was snookered from the flight

We were about to follow suit

When a bloke burst from the blue

This mate of Chris’s had found us

How’s that? I hadn’t a clue.

His name was Mat, this old school mate

T’was Chris’s “blast from the past”.

They joked along, as old friends do

It was great! Time went so fast.

Wake up Trev! It’s time to party!

A bush Christmas bash sounds great

Only forty k further out

As guests we shouldn’t be late.

Forty years back this bash was born

Lonesome feel’ns it did mend

They don’t get to see each other much

When by themselves, months on end.

The venue of the Christmas bash

It changed, each and every year.

This time it was at Bill’s station

All of his life, He’d been here.

 One hundred and twenty folks showed

They’d travelled from far and wide

The woman in fancy dresses

Men in clobber true and tried

Now my blue Hawaiian shirt stuck out

Like a whopping big sore thumb

All the other men dressed the same

Felt I’d been kicked in the bum.

On their heads they wore Akubras

Though some were covered in Grime

And twin pocketed long sleeve shirts

Spite of the heat at the time

They were all wearing denim jeans.

Odds-on, an unwritten rule

And with R and M Williams boots

Fair Dinkum, looked kinder cool.

Before we arrived at the bash

We found Channel two was sent

To report on this bush party

To televise the event

Now Chris thought he’d be interviewed

Cripes! He wanted to drop dead.

He said he just couldn’t do it

And would I do it instead?

I didn’t know Chris had any fears

He seemed intrepid, you know.

He prepared me for the questions

I’d get on this T V show.

The 7.30 report crew

The Christmas bush bash they shot

They never gave us a mention

Rotary didn’t fit their slot

I’m glad they came along though

Because after we were fed

Somehow we bludged there helicopter

Which became our Santa’s sled

Our very own St Christopher,

As Santa he looked a treat

Met with his moment of Glory

Mounting the passenger seat

The unwarned guests at the party

 Were all amazed at the row

Caused by the sudden explosion

Just like “Apocalypse Now”

This loud flying sled just appeared

Out of the dull desert plain

With Santa uttering “Ho Ho’s”

Bet some nickers copped a stain.

Our Santa he was wonderful

He was jump’n from his skin

The sun had sunk in the distance

But light came from Santa’s grin

He heaved his large sack of pressies

With a grunt, into the air

Waved to the crowd, with a wide grin

And strutted towards a chair

Now Santa gave out the pressies

The kids received them with glee

These children were rather special

Raindrops some had yet to see.

When times are tough in the country

The kids are out working too

To see the huge smiles on the faces

A lump in my throat it drew

I spoke to a bloke called Brian

He said “Mate, come and stay,

Since me creeks and dams have dried up

I purchase water each day

The cost of this is horrific

It’s for me sheep, and tribe too

I’ve had to resort to shoot’n

I average nine bucks per roo

I leave at two every morn’n

Shoot seventy with me gun

I sell’m at Bre for pet food

Takes about four hours per run

Maybe you think that’s terrible

Shoot’n the roos every day

We’re doin’m a favour, kill’n ‘m

Starv’n they’ll die anyway.

Besides they’re in plague proportions

I’m feed’n less sheep than roos

There numbers grow as each day goes

What do you do, in my shoes?”

It was time for the presentations

Sue Glover was the MC

She beckoned us to come forward

Said “Santa’s presents were free

They were bought by Penrith Rotary

From the local shops at Bre

They’ve also got some other gifts

That will help us all, you’ll see”

When hard times hit in the country

Fundraising bodies go dead

Everyone’s working on the land

They haven’t time or the bread

We presented cheques from Rotary

They were all for charity

Two grand for a very sick boy

Who needs urgent surgery

The next was Little Athletics

Fifteen hundred from kitty

The Hospital Auxiliary

A grand. That’s the “Nitty Gritty”.

Being driven back at two am

I sighted hundreds of roos

Most were grey, although some were red

And plus a flock of emus.

Well now I’m back home at Penrith

It’s nice here, home with my wife

I keep think’n the same question

How do bush folks bear their life?

Hot in the day and cold at night

The dust gets into your eyes

They tolerate plagues, flood and drought

And accept the swarms of flies

The land looks like a dull moonscape

As far as the eye could see

You couldn’t call it attractive

That’s just between you and me

Then there’s the isolation factor

Sometimes it must be like hell

Away from the infrastructure

That you and I know so well

No Leagues clubs or supermarkets

No theatres or swimm’n pools

No licenced restaurants of course

No dentists or kids pre-schools

The farmers showed us some photos

When the land was looking plush

Grasses tickled the cow’s bellies

And the crops they looked so lush

They love their land with a passion

City blokes can’t understand

What gives them this fighting spirit?

What do they find that’s so grand?

Perhaps it’s the crimson sunsets

Perhaps the bright stars that bloom

Perhaps it’s the friendly nature

Of folks with more elbow room.

I believe they all know something

Which I know nothing about

Not that they’re keeping a secret

It’s a heart felt thing no doubt

What ever the answer my friends

I envy these folks ardour

There’s an unwritten law they share

“Fight to the end with fervour”.

Rain will come sooner or later

God won’t forsake the far west

 I know that he’ll turn things around

I trust he always knows best.

Geoff Wood -2002