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The bushie’s break-up binge

by Judy Brindley | 04 Nov 2015

 

Filled with great drama and more than a bit of humour, this issue’s delightful poem is written by Judy Brindley from the Albury Central Probus Club in NSW.

 

A scorcher from the depths of hell had seared the countryside

And laid to waste the pastures ‘round the town where I reside.

For weeks, throughout the district, there were fires by the score,

In fact we even stopped one right outside our very door!

The noble band of volunteers, of which I am a member,

Are rostered on for duty every summer (from December) -

We’re labelled Country Beer Brigade instead of CFB

And once a year at knock-of time we organise a spree.

We tossed around suggestions for an appetising menu,

Then argued like a pack of dogs about a choice of venue.

When Ronnie Roberts’ rumpus room was placed at our disposal

We all agreed with gusto and accepted his proposal.

Young one’s a real good-hearted chap who rights our many wrongs

And measures five feet sixteen in his Dunlop drinking thongs.

His wife’s a dinkum treasure as she never seems to mind

About the empty bottles and the mess we leave behind. 

The women were invited to participate this year,

Our only reason being they agreed to fetch the beer.

We got the barbie going then decided to relax

And lubricate our tonsils while we feigned a cricket match.

All went well until some sparks were whipped up by a breeze

And landed in the tinder grass that grew beneath the trees.

At once the grass ignited in a sheet of yellow flame

Which raced along the boundary fence and out into the lane.

Loud shrieks began to fill the air and echo through the land

As females streamed from everywhere to lend a helping hand.

Galvanised to action I unsteadily arose

And stumbled, staring owlishly, to grab a garden hose.

Glancing ‘round, I saw that one inebriated blighter

Was making lewd advances to a female fire-fighter.

She pushed him off with vigour and continued her attack

On the darting tongues of fire with a wet potato sack. 

We managed to control the blaze with hoses from the truck

Just before it reach the pub, which was a stroke of luck.

The publican looked anxious as he hurried through the door

And said, ‘I’ve never seen you blokes arrive so fast before!

It seems you guessed this fire was about to cause disaster -

Maybe you even started it”...at which he roared with laughter.

We all looked very sheepish as a member of the crew

Recounted circumstances of our fateful barbecue.

Rather than exclude us for our escapade that day

The host was more than generous and invited us to stay.

He ordered counter lunches and the beer began to flow -

It turned out so much better than our predetermined show.

I’ll never know what happened next because, to my surprise,

The grog and tucker vanished as I opened up my eyes,

And then my wife’s familiar voice came wafting through in stages -

“wake up you lazy bugger, I’ve been calling you for ages!”

Judy is now in the running to win the annual Paul Henningham Award for Literary Excellence. Put pen to paper and send your work to Active Retirees. EMAIL: [email protected]. POST: 369a Darling Street, Balmain NSW 2041.