The Visitor

[Ron]

This, believe it or not, is a true story!


THE VISITOR

I was out at Lightning Ridge, way back in Sixty Nine
‘Was working there, though not, in an opal mine
But laying concrete blocks, building a new motel
Just along the road from the Diggers Rest Hotel.

And was early here one morning, that on the job
This most impertinent fellow happened to lob,
A thin, forthright and most impulsive stickybeak
Displaying traits of disregard and downright cheek!

His intro’! just an impudent eyeballing stare
That later caused ‘heart arrest’, if one wasn’t aware,
When from behind with suddenness of stealth and pace
Ghostlike! over the shoulder he’d be in your face!

So it wasn’t too long that it became past a joke
Each time we had a visit from this cheeky bloke,
He’d run off with tools in a lofty beak suspended
To drop, only when inquisitiveness ended.

He’d eat mortar from the barrow, causing a frown
As taste buds registered the mixture going down
Then give a shrug, signifying no elation,
Or the possible consequence of…constipation!

A pesky nuisance, though at times entertaining
With his antics that often had the sides straining,
Like a showman producing the unexpected,
As on the day, when the mixer he detected.

He strutted up as if to say, ‘what’s this I’ve missed’,
And as the bowl turned so did his head start to twist
Around and around with each revolution,
As for this machine! he would find the solution.

But this wasn’t enough for his investigation
As his next move was devoid of trepidation
That opened the eyes of intrigued spectators wide!
When, for goodness sake! …he stuck his head right inside!

A spectacle indelible before our eyes,
Long skinny legs, tenaciously tough for their size,
Supporting a fully feathered posterior,
While head scanning the mixer bowls interior.

Making it hard, for all watching, with mirth to cope
Was his lanky neck looping like a skipping rope,
Then realising he’d received much more than surmised
He abruptly withdrew …totally mesmerised!

He staggered about in a wobbly drunken style
With wet mortar still plastered all over his dial,
Equilibrium all adrift from head to toe
And a gallery agape at his grandstand show!

With symptoms of vertigo and very vacant look
In eyes bulging, his head he violently shook,
Until his senseless symptoms all seemed to abate
And once again he was standing, well sort of …straight!

But his brain wasn’t engaging deliberation
As his next move was instant acceleration,
The only thought being; to depart was a must!
And depart the scene he did …with rocket-like thrust!

Showing his superb athletic ability
On regaining normal state of agility,
In an automatic action super quick mode,
He was but a distant speck …down the dusty road!

And no doubt well equipped with a rigid resolve
To steer clear of all things that rotate or revolve,
As he must have felt free, from that fix of all fright
For after that day he never returned on site.

Now time has rolled on and all these years after,
I recall with ease his antics, and the laughter,
For each time the Emu on our Coat of Arms I see
It's Sixty Nine at the Ridge …that I well could be!

R.B. Jun. ’06

[r.magnay]

Yeah they are a strange creature hey Ron? They are pretty inquisitive at the best of times, have you ever seen one in the spotlight at night? They go crazy, jumping over their own shadow twisting and weaving quite funny really.

[Dennis N O'Brien]

[Ron]

Thanks Ross and Dennis for your replies,

No Ross haven't seen the spotlight acrobatics, but they amaze me with their quivering and snorting like a pig when in a defensive or guarded mode, they look like they are ready to explode.
As you say they are a strange creature ragarding their behaviour.

Ron

[Heather]

Poor emu. I wonder what ever happened to him Ron. Do you suppose he is a statue somewhere?

Heather

[Ron]

Fear not Heather, I'm sure he lived into longevity, as he was really a pet of sorts to a chap named Harold Hodges who had bought some old Sydney trams and set them up as the 'Tramotel' accommodation.
The Emu would wander the streets and it was quite funny, for after the mixer incident when he passed our site, he would always give us a wide birth and walk on the other side of the road.

Ron

[Zondrae]

G'day Ron,

I met that Emu! in early 1970 I was sitting in my combi van outside the Diggers Rest, waiting for the post office to clear the mail, and eating a sandwich - you can guess the rest. I was too slow getting the window up. We went to the Ridge the first time for a short holiday, then a couple of other visits til then decided to move there. We lived there for over three years. Our claim was on Hawks Nest, a very small field just past the four mile. (turn right at the Black Hand). We left for the last time in early 1977. Haven't been back. I remember them building that Motel.

[Heather]

Well do you blame him Ron?

[Rimeriter]

"Thanks" Ron.

Another bloody good chuckle.
Jim.

[Ron]

Hi Zondrae
I do remember you talking of the Ridge on the old site, it was sure a place with a difference in those days wasn't it. So many stories and incidences (that would make good material for poems!)
Like you I haven't been back since those days, always meant to but it hasn't happened as yet. Have been to White Cliffs a few times and somehow that, at present, reminds of what the Ridge was like back then.


Nah Heather I could not blame him at all.


Thanks Jim, glad you enjoyed it.

Ron.