narratorAUSTRALIA Volume One
Page 61
~~~
Being the parish priest I was a part of every family in the valley, but sadly I was also apart from every family in the valley. I was drawn to the Morgan family in a way that slightly disturbed me, and at times delighted me.
For many months I would take my morning walk along the clifftop; and as if it were my duty I would greet Rhyss and his younger brother Dai, as they descended to the pits.
‘God be with you boys, and you both be with God.’
‘Thank you Father, and I’ll give you a tune,’ said Rhyss.
‘Thank you Father, and I’ll give you a song,’ Dai said, with a lilt in his voice.
I would then be serenaded by a tuneless melody and an unfortunate ditty.
I would wave the lads on their way, then pray a silent prayer for the men and boys underground.
Ten hours after our last meeting on the clifftop, I set out to visit a sick member of the parish. I felt a compulsion to be alone, so I took the cobbled paths so rarely used by pedestrians. I slowed my walk sensing that I had reached an unseen destination.
An enchanting sound was filtering into my being, urging me to quicken my walk.
Suddenly I knew. The harmonica resonated in the evening mist. The tune, floating through the still air was hauntingly beautiful. The melody was sad and yet promised comfort.
I gasped as a voice chimed in to marry with the music from the reeds.The song was being sung in Welsh and the singer may have been an angel. In fact, as the captivating sounds became louder, I happened on two boys at the side of the lane. They were about twelve years old and smartly dressed in white collar and coat. The boy playing the harmonica was sitting on a box, the instrument all but concealed in the cave of his hands. His eyes were closed and his body swayed slightly as the sweet sounds escaped through his fingers. The boy with the voice of an angel had one foot on the box, his arm resting on that leg. He glanced up as I approached, exposing his soft green eyes that glistened with the dew of loss. His voice was so pure and emotion driven that I felt a shiver through my body and soul.
‘Rhyss? ... Dai?’
As I wondered what words I could use to ease the Morgan family’s pain, the siren sounded over the valley, and the boys were gone.
Saturday 20 October 2012
Amanda’s Fairytale
JAC
Kilsyth, VIC
She woke up to the gentle crackling sounds of the hot embers that remained of the fire. She turned on her side and faced the warmth, smiling inwardly. She had just had a wonderful dream. She dreamt of wearing a magnificent gown, and dancing with Prince Charming at the royal ball. She remembered that the Fairy Godfather, who looked a lot like Carson Kressley, had made her beautiful and all the fascinating spells that were cast. It was such a silly dream, but she loved it.
‘Amanda,’ came Lady Tremaine’s cold, cruel voice from the doorway. ‘Have you even begun your chores? Get up and at it.’
‘Yes, Lady Tremaine,’ Amanda said, getting up and wiping off her apron. Her heart nearly stopped as she felt something in her pocket, but she waited until her stepmother left before looking to see if it was true. Nervously, she pulled out a glass slipper from her pocket. ‘So it wasn’t a dream!’ she nearly shouted.
‘What wasn’t a dream?’ a voice asked.
Amanda gasped and dropped the slipper back in her pocket. There was an unfamiliar face at the window. ‘Who are you?’ she politely asked, opening the window.
‘I’m Doc,’ the little man answered. ‘These are my fellow dwarves: Sleepy, Dopey, Grumpy, Happy, Bashful, and Sneezy.’
‘Dwarves?’ Amanda asked, shocked. ‘But there aren’t such things as dwarves!’
‘If I’m not a dwarf, then I don’t know what I am!’ Happy chirped.
‘Would you like to come to our cottage for some tea?’ Bashful asked quietly, grabbing his beard and twisting it around. ‘It isn’t far.’
‘Well, I’ve never had tea with dwarves before, but I also have to get doing my chores or my stepmother will flip.’
‘It won’t take long,’ Doc assured her. ‘We just want to spend time with someone beautiful. It’s been awhile since we last saw Snow White.’
Amanda had no idea who Snow White was, but these dwarves didn’t seem like such bad things. ‘Okay, I’ll have some tea, but I can’t visit for long.’
The dwarves cheered as Amanda stepped out of the window. They walked into the forest and came upon a small cottage. She was a little unsure of going so far from home without saying anything, but decided it wasn’t that big a deal. Dopey happily led her inside and the rest followed suit, except for Grumpy who grudgingly followed.
‘It isn’t quite as clean as when Snow White stayed with us,’ Sneezy informed her, ‘but we do our best.’
‘Who is Snow White?’ Amanda asked as she sat down at the dusty table.
Dopey handed her a cup and she resisted the urge to clean it out before Happy poured the chamomile tea inside. Hesitantly, she took a sip.
‘She’s a princess now,’ Grumpy grunted. ‘She met her Prince Charming and married him after he woke her up from an evil spell.’
‘They lived happily ever after,’ Sleepy sighed. ‘Had three kids. They’re all grown up now, and Snow White has gotten older. She doesn’t come to visit us as often.’
All seven dwarves looked about solemnly for a while.
‘That sounds like my Prince Charming,’ Amanda said, trying to get off the subject of this Snow White chick. ‘He has my other slipper,’ she said, showing the other one to the dwarves. ‘I’m sure he’d marry me if he knew who I was.’
‘So what’s your story anyway?’ Doc asked.
‘My mother died when I was very young,’ she explained. ‘My father got remarried to an ugly hag, Lady Tremaine. She has two ugly, clumsy daughters, and they treat me like dirt.’ Amanda slammed down her cup in frustration. ‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t very appropriate, and it’s no way to speak about the lady who feeds me and puts a roof over my head.’
‘If it’s any consolation, Snow White had a similar problem, and her story turned out happily ever after,’ Happy said.
‘Of course,’ Grumpy snarled. ‘It’s always happily ever after. That’s so predictable. Whatever happened to cliffhangers or tragedies? Happily ever after is just so … boring!’
Amanda took this as her cue to leave. ‘Well, I really enjoyed our visit. I should get home and do my chores now.’
The dwarves bid her a goodbye and she left quickly.
‘Those were a peculiar bunch of creatures,’ she mumbled as she stepped carefully over fallen branches and roots protruding from the ground. ‘I hope I wasn’t gone too long!’ Amanda kept walking in what she thought was the right direction, until a voice commanded her attention.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I’m going home!’ she said loudly before turning around and seeing a dark fairy. ‘Wh-wh-who are you?’
‘I am Maledeficent and you’re not supposed to be here.’
‘Of course not!’ Amanda agreed. ‘I’m supposed to be home with my wicked stepmother and stepsisters doing my chores and working like a slave.’
‘That’s incorrect. You are meant to be at the castle with me working at the spinning wheel.’
‘Well, that life does sound much nicer than my own, but the man in my sights is Prince Charming and I can only have him if I live with my stepmother and stepsisters.’ Amanda turned to leave, but the fairy grabbed her arm.
‘I don’t care what silly excuses you have, Princess Aurora, but it’s nearing your sixteenth birthday and you need to be spinning for me right now.’
‘Princess Aurora?’ she asked, startled. ‘But I’m not a princess! I’m merely Amanda.’
‘Right, and I’m Cruella De Vil!’
So Amanda had no choice but to reluctantly follow Maledeficent to the grand castle – even grander than Prince Charming’s, but who’s judging? Amanda spun yarn for the fairy – pricked
her finger a few times – but Maledeficent never seemed satisfied. Amanda was actually beginning to miss her life at home.
‘Why isn’t it working?’ Maledeficent demanded after Amanda poked her finger for the fifth time that day.
‘Perhaps the time isn’t right?’ her young servant suggested.
‘Silence! And keep spinning that yarn,’ she ordered.
It seemed she finally came to a decision. ‘If it won’t work that way, I’ll just have to do it myself.’
Amanda was about to ask what, but before the words could leave her lips she fell asleep. When she woke up later, she felt she had had the best sleep of her life. It had felt so replenishing! However, her back muscles were sore and stiff as were her joints. It must have been a long sleep. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw a strange, old man standing over her. She screamed.
‘Please, don’t scream!’ the old man gasped. ‘You’re going to give me a heart attack!’
She sat up suddenly, realising she wasn’t on a bed at all. ‘Where am I? How long have I been asleep?’
‘Forever, it seems,’ he told her.
She blinked.
‘I’ve been searching for you for years,’ he explained. ‘Of course you don’t remember me, I’m an old man now. You once knew me as the young, handsome Prince Charming. Years have passed, and this is all that remains of me, I’m afraid.’
‘Charming?’ Amanda asked tenderly, reaching out and stroking his face. ‘How long have I been sleeping?’
‘That’s the thing,’ he went on. ‘It’s been about sixty years. You’ve been put under a curse by Maledeficent. She mistook you for Princess Aurora. Lucky girl, that one. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you, but you’re a hard girl to find. All I had at first was this slipper, you see.’ He pulled out the glass slipper and Amanda gasped. She grabbed the other one from her pocket and the two held them together. ‘But I’m here now.’
Amanda gazed into the withered face. ‘You’ve been looking for me all these years?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘And now that I’ve found you, we can finally marry.’ He paused. ‘You were looking for me before you disappeared, right?’
‘Of course,’ she said, grinning. ‘But what makes you think I would marry an old man NOW?’ Amanda stood up and stretched. ‘I’m going to explore the world! Sixty years in the future – imagine what kind of new things there are for me to see and do. And my wicked stepmother will be dead!’ She turned back to Prince Charming before leaving. ‘Sorry, old man. I never actually believed in the whole love at first sight thing!’ Amanda walked happily to the castle entrance, threw open the doors and was suddenly thrust into the desert. ‘Wait a minute,’ she began. ‘How on earth did I get here?’
‘Welcome to Agrabah!’ a voice said cheerily ‘I see you’re not from around here. You can call me Aladdin.’
Amanda looked up and saw a tall dark man with a six-pack staring back at her. ‘Well, Aladdin, you can call me whatever the hell you want!’
Perhaps she had found her Prince Charming after all …
Sunday 21 October 2012
Old Seadogs
James Craib
Wentworth Falls, NSW
The morning sun danced on the waves as a brisk gust brought the smell of the ocean, laden with salt, into Darcy’s nostrils. He awoke with a start, as he felt something wet and rough licking his face. He sat upright and tried to open his eyes, but found they were encrusted with a film of salt and sand.
‘Go on – bugger off! God that dog smells bad,’ he said aloud and tried to shoo the determined mutt away. ‘Yuck!’
‘Aw it’s only Seaweed, won’t hurt ya.’ Darcy was distracted momentarily by the voice close to his right side. ‘Come on, that’s enough, get down!’
‘Seaweed?’ Darcy replied incredulous, ‘Nah, I know a dog when I smell one; is it yours?’
‘Yeah, sorry mate,’ the voice continued, ‘should’ve explained a bit better, see his name is Seaweed. I call ’im that ’cause he’s a kelpie … mainly. Ya get it? Kelp, therefore Seaweed or Weedy for short; hang on a minute, here’s a drop of water to get the grit out of yer eyes, the cap’s off.’
Darcy felt a plastic bottle being shoved into his outstretched hand. He poured a liberal amount into his free hand and sluiced his face and eyes, then took a long drink. ‘Thanks mate,’ he exclaimed, ‘that feels so much better.’
Darcy blinked a few times and gazed quizzically, as the figure squatted beside him gradually came into focus. He shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun and looked into the lived-in face of his benefactor. Seaweed’s owner had one of those slightly ravaged faces of a life spent out in the open; clear intelligent eyes set beneath a shock of blonde-white hair and a slightly mocking smile, adorned by a three-day growth. About sixty or so and rangy, thought Darcy, not a fool – an old seadog. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and sneakers, and a blue windcheater over a rolled-neck pullover that was probably obtained at an army surplus store. A canvas bag hung down from his shoulder. The man picked up a stick and hurled it towards the ocean; Seaweed barked loudly and took off after the stick as if it were a rabbit. Within seconds, the dog retrieved the stick and brought it back and dutifully dropped it at the feet of its master, anxiously awaiting the game to continue, alternately barking and panting.
‘Weedy – sit, be quiet,’ said the owner. And Weedy sat down and gave a slight yelp of resignation and panted impatiently; it was too nice a day to be still whilst his owner talked to the other two-leg who had shooed him away.
‘My name’s Percy – me mates call me Parrot, reckon I’m always squawkin’ about sumptin,’ he looked down at an empty wine flagon. ‘What do they call you … old soak?’
Darcy glanced balefully at the empty flagon also, ‘Ahh Darcy, yeah I know, “looks like another deadbeat slurping turps on the beach, must’ve passed out last night”. Don’t happen to know the time do you Parrot? Speaking of which, my mouth feels like the bottom of a birdcage.’ He took another drink.
‘Yeah you look like shit also,’ replied Parrot and pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch. ‘It’s um, just on seven. Though you don’t sound like a down-and-out, what’s your caper?’
Darcy looked askance, ‘Thanks for the compliment … does he talk like that to you too, Weedy?’ trying to deflect a possible confrontation. ‘Jeez my head’s bursting.’
The dog, which was predominantly black, turned its white face sideways at the mention of its name and barked twice, seemingly in affirmation, and wagged its tail in anticipation.
‘If you must know … I was thinking about trying to swim to New Zealand – one way. If I made it, good and well, if not …’ Darcy trailed off.
‘You mean you were going to drown yourself – what on Earth for? It can’t be that bad, surely! What happened? Did the cat snuff it or sumptin? Get yourself a dog – take mine!’ Parrot went quiet for a moment, then added, ‘I’ll tell you something else, Darcy boy, drowning is NOT a pleasant way to go.’ His voice raised higher, ‘Take it from me, I used to be a fisherman up ’til I retired. I got washed overboard once in a high swell and nearly got carried away. Luckily I managed to grab a mass of net but I lost a finger in the process when my hand got entangled.’ Parrot was practically shouting now in anger, as if Darcy was, somehow, partially responsible. ‘Cop this!’
And in confirmation, Parrot held up his left hand to show the ugly stump of his forefinger, streaked with scars from where strong twine had ripped through the joint.
‘Actually,’ said Darcy slowly, ‘it was my wife Madeline that ... snuffed it.’ The expression tasted like bile in his throat and he turned and spat into the sand. ‘She … passed away a month ago. She was diabetic, went into a coma and didn’t come out of it. I had to tell them to turn off life support. We were going to go to Europe next year.’ Tears formed in his eyes and he turned away again in embarrassment, body convulsing.
Parrot’s face dropped, a
nd his voice returned to normal. ‘Oh bugger me, I’m very sorry Darcy. Jesus I’m a prick. I run off at the mouth at times. Just call me Percy the Prick!’
Darcy snuffled, ‘It’s alright, you weren’t to know, it’s just that I’d looked after her for the last few years and now it all seems to have been so futile, got nothing much else to live for – we didn’t have kids. Plus our parents are gone now on both sides … got a sister but I haven’t seen her in years; still living up in Queensland last I heard. Cairns I think was her last address …’
Something grabbed Seaweed’s attention down by the water’s edge. He barked loudly once, jumped to his feet and took off across the sand to do battle with a noisy seagull.
‘Weedy!’ yelled Parrot to no avail. ‘Come back here, you little mongrel!’ But it was clear that Weedy’s patience was exhausted and he had no inclination towards obedience. ‘Kelpies are like that, they get bored. He’ll come back eventually, just like kelp on the beach,’ Parrot conceded, smiling at his own joke.
Turning his attention back to Darcy, Parrot said, ‘Look Darcy, that’s bloody awful, really! But you know when I gave up fishing, not long after I nearly became fish fodder me self and lost the digit … the wife buggered off with the local baker. I was devastated but it transpired that they’d been carrying on every time I went to sea. We had a couple of kids but I wasn’t much of a Dad; never at home see? They’re both adults now, flew the coop quite some time ago and now I don’t hear from them at all. They both shot through to the bright lights of Sydney. But here’s the twist – I’ve become rather friendly with the baker’s missus!’
Darcy turned and looked at Parrot, ‘Are you pulling my chain?’
‘No, straight up. She’s a lovely girl and everything’s nice ’n easy, no hang-ups, pleasant conversation; we take in a show occasionally and I have dinner ’round at her place quite often. I take a bottle of wine from the pub – that’s it behind us up there on the bluff – The Sea-Spray. I even get to throw the leg across occasionally. Actually, I sold me house and boat as part of the divorce settlement and now I’ve got a room at the Sea-Spray. Nothing fancy, but it’s clean and comfortable. My nephew is the publican and I help out as a handyman and also behind the bar when required. I’ve got the pension and I like to fossick down here on the beach; you never know what you might find … prone bodies even, particularly after a long weekend. I’ve already picked up about ten bucks in change this morning. Anyway; I’m rambling on here …’
‘I’ll say,’ interrupted Darcy, who was actually finding his story intriguing.
‘Just hear me out Darcy and then I’ll piss off and you can get back to pollutin’ the ocean and amusing the seagulls.’
‘Thank you Percy Freud,’ replied Darcy. It was his turn to get angry. ‘What are you – the coastal shrink? the … Fisherman’s Friend? If you think I’m going to sit here and suffer your …’
But Parrot cut him off short. ‘Listen you dick, it’s no skin off my nose, all I’m tryin’ to say is that there are other fish in the ocean, other paths to follow. “Life flows on within you and without you,” as George Harrison once said. Okay, your wife has passed on, but you haven’t! Don’t make the mistake of dropping your bundle. Grieve for her, certainly, and then move on. Grog’s not the answer either you know.’
‘Yeah?’ said Darcy somewhat mollified, ‘I suppose you’re an expert there too, after all you do live in a pub! Yo bloody ho and a bottle of Bundy?’
‘But of course!’ agreed Parrot. ‘I used to get legless just about every other night. I’d lost a finger and I’d been fingered, or cuckolded or something. Then one day I’m down on the beach, just like you, with the mother and father of a hangover and I ran into a couple of Buddhist fellers sittin’ cross-legged on the sand staring out to sea, meditatin’. It sort of threw me at first because they weren’t in saffron robes or had shaved heads or anything. Turned out they were visitors at the Ashram just back in the hinterland a bit, on a weekend retreat. Anyway, I got to talking to them and they suggested I try meditating. At first I thought “this is bullshit” but anyway later on I said to me self – self, I’ll give this a try, got nothing to lose. So after one or two false starts sure enough I start to feel relaxed and I get reacquainted with the young bloke I once was in me twenties, only I’ve got a bit more wisdom now see – yeah you can laugh, but it works; got me off the piss and curbed the urge to run a gutting knife across me wrists.’
‘Sorry, Parrot, I wasn’t laughing at you, really, it’s your dog – Seedy is it? No that’s me! Weedy, that’s it! He’s trying to catch that seagull, just about got him that time. You mean to say that you tried to end it all? A bit messy I would’ve thought slitting your wrists in the bathtub.’
Parrot chose to ignore this observation. Instead he stuck two fingers in his teeth, whistled a shrill note and called out loudly, ‘Weedy, come here mate, come on.’ And Weedy, after giving one last lunge at the hapless gull, came racing back up the sand to where the two men were sitting. He shook himself violently and salty water sprayed both men and they protested alternately with cries of ‘Bloody hell’ and ‘God, you stink’. Oddly enough, Seaweed didn’t appear to be too perturbed. The little dog barked excitedly – time to go, gulls to chase!
There was an awkward silence. Finally Parrot said, ‘I’d better get going. Wouldn’t want to waste anymore of your precious time and I’ve got to be back at the pub in an hour to help get set up for the day’s trading.’ There was another awkward moment, ‘You should wander up later for a counter lunch and a … mineral water, get yourself cleaned up first. Or if you like I can give you and Weedy a hose-down at the rear of the pub. He’s especially on the nose and you’re not far behind.’
By now Darcy was bereft of any other pithy response.
‘Be seeing you – yo bloody ho!’ and with that Parrot stood up and started off again along the beach. ‘Come on Weedy,’ he called. And soon he was another hazy figure on the water’s edge in the morning sun, gradually getting smaller with a yappy grey black bundle beside him.
Darcy yawned, stretched and rubbed his eyes once more. He noticed that Parrot had left his water bottle behind. He took another long drink to wet his parched mouth and throat. ‘Silly old bugger,’ Darcy thought to himself. ‘But he did make some sense!’ he acknowledged grudgingly. Madeline was gone and nothing could bring her back. Maybe it was time to make a fresh start. Get a new job or perhaps travel – he’d always wanted to see Europe, never know who you might meet. He could try to look up his sister in Queensland, or maybe he could get himself a dog. Old seadogs – maybe he might just repair to the Sea-Spray for lunch.
Monday 22 October 2012
What We Leave Behind …
Susan Sargent
Narrabri, NSW
The big grey horse looked miserably over his stable door, waiting hungrily for his breakfast, although he knew it probably wouldn’t come. All the others in the row had been fed. Mistral, a big black mare, Danny, a chestnut pony, Henry, another grey like himself, Pirouette, a flashy brown show mare, and Pete, a small bay gelding, were all busy devouring their breakfast – but not Billy. He looked forlornly about him, trying to find even a wisp of lucerne that had, perhaps, blown his way on the slight breeze that ruffled his once-white mane.
His tail too, had once been white, and the rest of him covered in a soft, shiny coat that felt like satin. Now though, all was hidden beneath a layer of dirt and dried sweat. Underneath that layer, his ribs were beginning to show through the build-up, as his condition faded away. Billy had once been a girl’s best friend, a pony club champion, until that girl discovered boys. Now he remained all but forgotten, fading away quietly in his little stall.
Had Billy been a person, he probably would have wondered why no-one fed him, why no-one ever groomed him, and why someone wasted their money on a stable for him when they clearly could not be bothered looking after him. He was always lonely, locked up all day while the others went out to the field,
except for the odd occasion when a passing child patted him on the way to their riding lesson, or perhaps offered a carrot, although his old teeth found those difficult to chew. He longed for the days when his girl’s laughter rang out around him, long summer days when they’d be splashing in the dam, or those weekends when they would be off to a competition, or those long, peaceful rides through the nearby forest with their mates.
A girl walked down the stable row, going about her business cleaning the stalls once the other horses went out for the day. Billy saw her often when she mucked out. Sometimes she would have a treat for him, but not today. He nickered to her, hoping for a small scrap of something, anything would do. Without a word, she stopped outside Billy’s stable, and, looking around to make sure nobody else was nearby, quickly unlatched the door. She swung it open, before silently walking away.
Billy stood for a moment, staring at freedom. He took a tentative step forward, expecting a reprimand, then quickly trotted out, heading for the nearest patch of grass he could see. Despite being somewhat dry and brown in the midsummer heat, that patch looked lush, green and inviting to Billy. He took a few mouthfuls, then with a sudden burst of energy, lay down and rolled, relieving the many built-up itches beneath his dirty exterior. He then stood up, shook himself all over, and began to pick at the grass once more.
His freedom, however, was short-lived. The girl who had released him soon returned, a sad expression on her face, carrying a halter and lead rope. She buckled the halter about Billy’s head, and led him slowly back to his stall. He ambled along slowly, suddenly remembering that he was an old horse with many aches and pains and could not move very fast anymore.
‘I’m sorry, old mate,’ she whispered to him as they returned to the dark musty box, ‘I wish I could give you more, but I would be in big trouble if I did.’
Billy let out a sigh when he found no food in his feed bin, almost as if he’d never expected it, but still hoped anyway. He couldn’t possibly understand why nobody could help him. His owners refused assistance and caused trouble if anyone tried to interfere, despite the efforts of all who knew Billy.
The girl patted Billy and left, locking the door as she went. He sadly resigned himself to starvation and neglect once more. He watched the girl walk away, staring after the only person who cared about an old, grey horse.
Tuesday 23 October 2012
Bluehole – Come Share With Me
Rimeriter
Lansvale, NSW
Situated in a back street of a suburb in a city,
was a cool and blue hued water hole
enclosed by roads, so gritty.
Mostly capped with bitumen
but at the edges gravel,
along which on the working days many people had to travel.
Nearby was a paint factory that was busy night and day,
but during daylight at the weekend
children came along to play,
within this piece of waste land upon which
nothing had been built,
they frolicked, pranced and fantasised – without ever knowing guilt.
As time progressed, the day got hot, the sun was at its peak.
Children could not have this much fun – not in the working week.
Now one was there. He must be un-named – let’s refer to him as Jim.
It was on this hot and fateful day he decided to have a swim.
So with his mates’ encouragement he doffed his clothes like they.
No one had brought their ‘swimmers’ – they had only come to play.
The water it was very cool. The day was sooo serene.
No one thought a better day had ever, ever been.
As time passed by with clothing safe far from the water’s edge
these boys very soon decided and this must be their pledge
to mention it to no one, not even other mates,
certainly not your sister, because when she got the hates –
she’d tell – then the consequences would be very, very sad,
the full and lurid story would seem very, very bad.
No girls were ever invited to go swimming in the nude
they would only just have said, ‘Oh! No! It’s very, very rude.’
So the boys had the ‘Bluehole’, completely, to their very own
they had no way of knowing that on this day they’d moan
about the cruel ‘trick of fate’ that soon caused them all to run.
A ‘trick of fate’ that spoiled their day in the hot and boiling sun.
The perimeter fence was fashioned, from palings and from tin,
this kept the passing sightseers from secretly staring in
except through the many holes and where the tin was not properly mended
which allowed small boys to do things that were originally unintended.
This was a place containing – watered down chemical waste –
it was not known to these boys in their innocence and haste
that it was the chemicals which made the water blue
nor the nasty situation which was soon, to all ensue.
Suddenly one boy spotted, a peaked cap, so very, very tall,
it stood just high enough to peer, over the surrounding wall.
Bobbing up and down it went – in progression to the gate.
Was it going to be the cause – of their fumbling future fate?
A policeman in a uniform. No doubt that it’s a copper.
He stopped at the nearest gate. Did everything very proper.
Yelled at the young boys doing Aussie Crawl,
making them panic, wiped the everpresent smile,
from fresh-faced to frightened: now no grin upon their ‘dial’.
But, did they flee in panic? The true answer it is ‘YES’
They had no way of knowing, they could really only guess
that if they were not to be lumbered by a cop upon his beat,
they had better be very hasty and make a very quick retreat.
The rush and haste meant, that from the strewn and scattered clothes
they picked some up, but could not be called, the very same as those
which were worn upon arrival at the ‘Bluehole’ on this day,
to claim all the correct ones could cause a scuffle and affray.
‘Lickerty Split’ to random fences, they skeltered and they ran
each one for themselves, not wanting to carry ‘the can’
for any old mate who was wearing, just a jumper with a vee,
when turned back to the front, sleeves reached only to his knee.
It covered all his front parts. Thank goodness for that.
For further disguise of his rear end, he wished he’d worn a hat.
Fortunately for all, the coppers were eluded,
but when parents finally found out, they could not be excluded,
because trousers had to be exchanged and other items claimed
or else another boy, might be very seriously maimed
by wearing those garments, that were too tight for him.
Now, more days at the ‘Bluehole’, are looking very, very, dim.
Wednesday 24 October 2012 8 am
So Many Grains Of Sand …
Vickie Walker
Orange, NSW
So many grains of sand wash upon our shores,
each one separate, adding to the whole.
Yellow specks move together as one;
sculptured drifts, swept by wave and wind.
An endless supply of people inhabit Earth,
billions have come before; will come after.
Individuals living their separate lives,
differences dividing; not yet whole.
Each tiny spot, each grain of sand combine
to unite and blend; merge into each other.
A beach is created when all
contribute to the one beautiful whole.
We are so many grains of sand …
Wednesday 24 October 2012 4 pm
Mountain Climbing
Michele Fermanis-Winward
Leura, NSW
Emerging from the night
your rounded curves
are close enough to try.
Wrapped in
a softening glaze,
your gentle rise and fall
I’m longing to possess.
Light expands
the details of your form,
disclosing ridge and canyon wall,
the wild irregularity
which time can build.
I had seen
what mist and mind will draw,
you now display
a reach my arms can’t hold.
Must stay and watch
as others stretch
exposed,
caress each hip and breast,
the depth of folds
by wind and rain
distressed.
Thursday 25 October 2012 8 am