ABPA — The Australian Bush Poets Association Inc.

EASTER WEEKEND

© Irene Dalgety Timpone

Winner, 2023 NSW State Championships – Humorous Section, Guyra, NSW.

One Easter break, some years ago, my brothers, Slim and Snow,
did not arrive in time for Friday brunch.
Now, this was most unusual, as Easter visits go:
they’d come on Thursday, stay till Tuesday lunch.

Poor Mum was quite upset by this – went into panic mode –
and sent me out to see what I could find,
envisioned both her precious boys capsized along the road,
and almost lost her ever-loving mind.

A phone call to the Cop Shop soon put every fear at rest.
We heard the pair had ended up in jail,
and there they’d stay till Tuesday when, in court, they could attest,
and be released if they were granted bail.

Meanwhile, the local lock-up would keep both the lads confined,
or so the worthy Sergeant seemed to think.
He’d charged them both with drunkenness. They hadn’t seemed to mind,
perhaps because they’d had too much to drink.

Then Sarge explained conditions to prevail the next few days –
no outside food, no visitors could call.
Mum’s boys, alone, might contemplate their sad and sorry ways,
while tucked up tight for five long days, in all.

Sarge felt that he was justified in locking up that pair:
they’d slipped between the cracks ten times, before.
He couldn’t see the high-fives and the wicked winks they’d share.
He chuckled as he slammed the prison door.

The lock-up there, at Gilberton, was built the outback style –
the cell on posts a metre from the ground.
The lads surveyed surroundings with a calculated guile,
saw bars to keep all inmates safe and sound.

The time has come to tell you that, while locked up, once before,
the boys had hatched a very clever plan.
By rendering ‘removeable’ a section of the floor,
they’d made an exit for a skinny man.

On Thursday night, the Sergeant brought a healthy meal for two,
with milk to quench their ever-present thirst;
but, strangely, they refused to eat. Now, that was something new:
“We’re hunger-striking, Sarge – bet that’s a first.”

The poor man took the meals away: he felt a sense of dread,
guessed they’d devised a very cunning plot.
A stupid five-day hunger-strike would hardly leave them dead;
but he would cop all blame, as sure as not.

The lights went out at ten to nine. Snow chose the bottom bunk,
and said he’d take a very welcome nap.
In darkness, Slim then raised loose boards, and heard a muffled thunk,
while making room to slide down through the gap.

Slim used the bright, full Easter Moon while dodging, tree to tree,
and ended up outside the Pub’s back door.
His mate, the cook, expecting him – yes, that was plain to see –
provided him with food and drink, galore.

The precious load was carried back with watchfulness and care.
Slim passed the bundles, through the hole, to Snow.
They spent the night imbibing well, and eating their fair share,
then bundling all the rubbish, set to go.

By daylight, Slim had hidden all the evidence away:
he’d stashed the refuse deep in nearby bins,
except for all the bottles which, to make the poor man’s day,
he’d tossed in Sarge’s garden, for his sins.

And so began the ritual that ended Monday night.
The prisoners grew weaker, day by day,
or so it seemed to Sarge, poor chap, beside himself with fright,
expecting Slim, perhaps, might pass away.

The end of their incarceration clearly seemed in sight.
The Judge, as was his habit, gave them bail.
The Sergeant said: “You two, clear off!” as was their legal right,
then hurried back to disinfect the jail.

That night, Sarge visited the pub. He thought he’d celebrate
the victory he felt he’d squarely won.
He knew that there were questions he must still investigate;
but he’d soon find the answers, and be done.

He downed a few, with friends of his, and spoke with hearty voice:
“I volunteer to pay this evening’s bill.”
He knew it was his turn to shout – he really had no choice –
so sauntered down towards the hotel till.

The Publican held back a grin: “You’re heading home then, Sarge?
I need to give you this before you go –
the Hotel’s detailed invoice. There’s a quite extensive charge
for five days food and drink for Slim and Snow.

I didn’t charge delivery. That didn’t seem quite fair.
You’d run up such a generous amount.
I guessed you had a sentimental soft spot for that pair,
and took your Easter cheer into account.”

Well, Sarge propped like a startled steer, and shook his woolly head:
he couldn’t take in what he had just heard.
“I’ll kill that pair.” he muttered, “They are both as good as dead!”
He hurried off without another word…

He must have found them hard to catch – or so it seems to me.
They certainly did live to tell the tale,
and though the Sergeant tried, for weeks, to work out what transpired,
he never found the weakness in his jail.


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