Keith Lethbridge

I was earning my pay on a glorious day,
While the blue leschenaultia flowered;
A wandering star in a Commonwealth car,
On the pay-roll of honest John Howard.
Not a cloud in the sky as the paddocks rolled by,
And the world was in my palm,
As I headed out back on the Mullewa track,
To the big Bundybunna farm.

By a dry water course, a broken down horse
Rolled back an inquisitive eye,
As a flock of galahs wheeled lazily past,
In a magical turquoise sky.
I dropped back the speed, in response to a need
To answer Nature's call,
And with no more in mind, I drove up behind
The old Wongoondy hall.

My business was done in the shimmering sun,
And the body felt well satisfied;
Then, as I was hopin', the back door was open,
So I went for a gander inside.
It was one of those halls with concrete brick walls;
Not fancy, just solid and plain,
In need of repair, with grey dust in the air,
Like a paddock parched for rain.

And there in the corner, with swallow nests on her,
A Concord piano was strewn;
Dry wood, rusty iron and just about cryin'
For someone to strike up a tune;
So I lifted the lid and just as I did,
A swallow brushed past my brow.
I felt a bit daunted .... perhaps it was haunted !
But too late to chicken out now.

I found an old chair in the kitchen out there,
Then struck up a tentative chord;
A little off key but it satisfied me,
So into the action I roared.
Liberace I'm not, but the further I got,
The more I felt right at home;
In Wongoondy hall, with its history and all,
That song grew a life of its own.

In next to no time I was Art Rubinstein,
With a smidgen of Elton John,
And behind me, I swear, ghosts danced through the air,
While I just kept tinkling on.
Then up came the light on a wonderful sight,
Of farmers in Sunday attire;
Young blokes from the town were waltzing around,
With girls of their hearts' desire.

I picked out the tone of a sweet saxophone,
Then a drummer leapt into the fray,
And right through the chorus the crowd cheered for us,
In a warm but ghostly way.
They shouted “Encore !” so we kept playing more,
As the minutes went hurrying past,
But my fingers were slowing; I couldn't keep going,
So stopped for a breather at last.

And (wouldn't you know ?) that ended the show,
For the moment I turned around,
In the dust-laden air the floor boards were bare,
With never a ghost to be found;
And try as I might to get the spell right,
And the ghost dancers back on the floor,
I could never repeat that magical feat;
They had vanished, forever more.

With no heart to play, I called it a day,
And trudged to the open door,
But before stepping down, turned sadly around,
And bowed .... to an empty floor;
Then later, outside, I felt a strange pride,
And walked about ten feet tall,
To think I had played in a ghost serenade,
At the old Wongoondy hall.