I thought that you folks Over There might like to experience the flavour of an Aussie Christmas, so here’s a ’seasonal’ poem. High literature it ain’t - enjoy!
BTW, as I write this, I’m sitting at my desk in a sarong, looking out the window at the mangoes beginning to blush on our big old tree. Meanwhile, it’s raining - steady subtropical wet stuff, with a sauna to follow when the sun comes out and sucks all the moisture out of the ground. I’m finally considering air conditioning. *sigh*
‘Twas the night before Christmas; there wasn’t a sound.
Not a possum was stirring; no-one was around.
We’d left on the table some tucker and beer,
Hoping that Santa Claus soon would be here;
We children were snuggled up safe in our beds,
While dreams of pavlova danced ’round in our heads;
And Mum in her nightie, and Dad in his shorts,
Had just settled down to watch TV sports.
When outside the house a mad ruckus arose;
Loud squeaking and banging woke us from our doze.
We ran to the screen door, peeked cautiously out,
snuck onto the deck, then let out a shout.
Guess what had woken us up from our snooze,
But a rusty old Ute pulled by eight mighty ‘roos.
The cheerful man driving was giggling with glee,
And we both knew at once who this plump bloke must be.
Now, I’m telling the truth it’s all dinki-di,
Those eight kangaroos fairly soared through the sky.
Santa leaned out the window to pull at the reins,
And encouraged the ‘roos, by calling their names.
‘ Now , Kylie ! Now, Kirsty! Now, Shazza and Shane !
On Kipper! On, Skipper! On, Bazza and Wayne !
Park up on that water tank. Grab a quick drink,
I’ll scoot down the gum tree. Be back in a wink!’
So up to the tank those eight kangaroos flew,
With the Ute full of toys, and Santa Claus too.
He slid down the gum tree and jumped to the ground,
Then in through the window he sprang with a bound.
He had bright sunburned cheeks and a milky white beard.
A jolly old joker was how he appeared.
He wore red stubby shorts and old thongs on his feet,
And a hat of deep crimson as shade from the heat.
His eyes - bright as opals - Oh! How they twinkled!
And, like a goanna, his skin was quite wrinkled!
His shirt was stretched over a round bulging belly
Which shook when he moved, like a plate full of jelly.
A fat stack of prezzies he flung from his back,
And he looked like a swaggie unfastening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but bent down on one knee,
To position our goodies beneath the yule tree.
Surfboard and footy-ball shapes for us two.
And for Dad, tongs to use on the new barbeque.
A mysterious package he left for our Mum,
Then he turned and he winked and he held up his thumb;
He strolled out on deck and his ‘roos came on cue;
Flung his sack in the back and prepared to shoot through.
He bellowed out loud as they swooped past the gates -
‘MERRY CHRISTMAS to all, and goodonya, MATES!’
Let me know if there’s something you’re curious about.For example, Shazza and Bazza are the nicknames for Sharon and Barry, respectively. Not something a foreigner might intuit!
Hope your Christmas was simply wonderful, full of love and ease. Mine wasn’t too damn bad at all! I know I’m blessed and I’m infinitely grateful.
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