A Bush Service : Just Verse, A Collection of Poems

A BUSH SERVICE

High in the hills where the winter snow chills
And the rivers are blessed with pure beauty
An unseasoned Jack Roth, a man of the cloth
Was sent there for his Christian duty

He was young and on fire and filled with desire
To begin his life as a 'teacher'
With the Lord on his side, this Sunday with pride
He'd give his first sermon as preacher

He felt left in the lurch, for the town had no church
But to preach there he had been instructed
By a fast flowing creek, the service each week
Would be held until one was constructed

Now, the Quinn's had a lad who was not really bad
But his eyes with pure devilment glistened
And it seemed to the town, it might quieten him down
If only the brat could be christened

Ben swore from the heart, he would never take part
Of this church thing he'd spare no time listening
He had seen them on knees, in the shade of the trees
And 'to hell' with this thing they called christening

In the year '22, there was plenty to do
And the folk had no time to be bored
Though their 'butts' were so tired that they nearly expired
Still, each Sunday they gave to the Lord

They were often quite lewd when engaged in a feud
And they'd brawl without thought of behaviour
But their tempers would calm at the very first psalm
As they offered their thanks to their Saviour

And because it was spring, it was a picnic type thing
And the women would carefully prepare
There was chowder and cakes, and barbecued snakes
And with pleasure they brought treats to share

To give praise for their thanks, they placed it on planks
High up where the ants could not reach
And there it would stay 'til the end of the day
When the preacher had finished his 'preach'

But this picnic would spoil, if their 'fly in the oil'
Could not be captured for 'dipping'
So the town chased him down and 'hog-tied' the clown
And threatened the lad with a whipping

It was a pretty safe bet that he wasn't beat yet
And with wiggling he found himself free
With the speed of a hound, and one mighty bound
Like a possum he'd scampered a tree

Though they threatened and pleaded, their words were unheeded
The young brat refused to budge
He would not join their tribe, not even for bribe
Of a whole chocolate cake and fresh fudge

With beady eyes, and lurking like spies
Was a group hiding deep in the scrub.
They wore lopsided grins and had deep sunken chins
'Twas 'The Big City Bushwalking Club'

They were plainly appalled, but they listened enthralled
At the language the bush folk were using
They all failed to see, why the lad in the tree
Was copping such hostile abusing

The preacher with dread at last shook his head
Our service can't wait any longer.
We'll open our 'books' and while the boy looks
Perhaps his faith will grow stronger.

Roth started to preach, but young Ben found in reach
A cluster of young baby pine cone
And with each word Roth said, one would land on his head
With a force that could shatter an ox bone

With a bleary eyed glance, Boozer Bob saw his chance
While the 'service' was in disarray
With a devious gloat, and the jug neath his coat
The 'holy wine' went on its way

He tottered and stumbled, and slobbered and mumbled
How this service was good for the soul
With the wine to his lips, and two dozen nips
Once again his body felt 'whole'

He 'toasted' away while he watched the affray
Laughing, This one's for thee and for thine.
Then with one gasping breath, he slumped to his death
But at least he had finished the wine

The preacher aghast thought his doom had been cast
When he saw Bob as stiff as a nail
But the throng gathered 'round, hoisted Bob off the ground
And strapped his corpse to a rail

Oh, woe is me, I'll be defrocked. Said he
But the throng urged him not to be weak
Don't worry 'bout Bob; we can handle this job.
And they flung rail and corpse in the creek

And the poor city club, huddled low in the scrub
As they watched Bob floating away
Don't worry One said. The man isn't dead.
I'll bet it's some game that they play

The preacher was shaken with the action they'd taken
But one bushman chuckled with glee
We've saved the old fox from a knotty pine box
Cause we've buried the bugger at sea.

Though it's plain to the eye like the sun in the sky
This is only a fast flowing creek.
But with fast melting snow, the quicker he'll go
And he should reach the ocean next week.

Roth worshiped his creed but refused to proceed
'Til the boy was brought down from the tree
Don't worry said Dan I'm a lumberjack man;
Just leave that job up to me.

With a skill so divine, he shinned up that pine
And soon the boy's leg was in reach
But Dan's iron grip made Ben's trousers rip
And loudly they heard the lad screech

Dan's action was grand but with Ben's pants in hand
The boy was as naked as birth
Young Ben vainly tried to cover his pride
While the pine tree shook with Dan's mirth

With his pride to enfold, Ben had no limb to hold
So through branches he crashed to the earth
And the women that gazed were shocked and amazed
When Ben displayed all he was worth

While some women tittered some others were 'jittered'
And some even fell into faint
But old Quinn was proud and he shouted it loud
And Ben's mother claimed he looked 'quaint'

The boy's led us a dance, let's not squander our chance.
Said Tom Dean with the darkest of frowns
Now while we've sunk him, the preacher can dunk him
And I won't give a damn if he drowns.

The preacher with qualms took young Ben in his arms
But his heart was heavy with dread
His eyelids were flicking and when Ben started kicking
He dropped the poor boy on his head

Quinn openly cried for he thought Ben had died
And he issued an 'up-country' shout
He invoked his own law, and with one hairy paw
The preacher was promptly laid out

It was sure for a 'cert' that the preacher was hurt
And some gathered 'round to protect him
But Quinn in a rage, yelled it was just the first stage
And he swore that he'd maim and defect him

Then an oafish young mutt up to Quinn he did strut
And begged the big man for peace
With the same hairy paw and a swat on the jaw
The boy's face was wearing a crease

Without one single care, Quinn hurled bodies through air
Any person in reach was in danger
With his up-country shout, his great fists flailed out
With a style that would please the 'Lone Ranger'

Now, Mrs. McBain was exceedingly vain
She was in a state of distress
When she stood at the side of Mrs. McBride
And discovered they had the same dress

With a murderous stare and a handful of hair
She wrestled McBride to the dirt
They screamed and clawed, but their technique was flawed
It was plain neither one would get hurt

Everybody joined in and they raised such a din
And each man was put through his paces
Fists flew through the air, and the men didn't care
Just as long as they punched in some faces

And the poor city club hid and watched the hubbub
Their fear had suddenly risen
They would not hang about, for they had little doubt
This was some kind of bush exorcism

At a gallop they started and swiftly departed
To escape with their lives they were glad
They'd never come back along this same track
They were convinced that all bushmen were mad

Then it happened one chap lobbed in Sarah Doyle's lap
The landing could not have been worse
The town folk knew well, Jim Doyle came from hell
And he harboured the jealously curse

Young Harry laid in the nurturing shade
Of Sarah Doyle's great heaving breast
With rage Jim Doyle cried, He's molesting my bride;
I'll put him to permanent rest.

Like a bullock he roared, veins stood out like cord
Young Harry would soon be a wreck
Like a tank he was built and with no sense of guilt
He started to wring Harry's neck

But then Harry's dad, bravely saved his young lad
By thrusting a log in Doyle's face
Then he lifted it high and really let fly
And poor Doyle had no time to brace

Jim Doyle was stretched out, there was little to doubt
It would take many days for his healing.
As he lay on the ground, young Harry unwound
And gave him another 'with feeling'

When three shots were fired, all the brawlers retired
To check if they had been shot
With his back to the sun, and holding the gun
Was the preacher with temper red hot.

For heaven's sakes, I brought this for snakes.
He yelled as he whirled it around
But I'll shoot like a sniper, and wing every viper
With two legs that walks on the ground.

Though I'll admit that I'm green, you're the worst mob I've seen
Your brains are smaller than lizards.
I won't stoop to cuss, but without any fuss
I'll blow out the next brawler's gizzards.

With hand rock steady, he held the gun ready
To back up the threat he had made
And the men in their fear, tried to creep to the rear
They were shaken and deeply afraid

The preacher man then, took hold of young Ben
And he grasped the boy by the ear
And Ben couldn't run, for this bloke had a gun
And if the preacher was sane wasn't clear

Now, Ben my lad, you have been very bad
For you have a very bad streak.
With the gun to his head, young Ben was then led
To the bank of the fast flowing creek

While ever I stay, you will come every day
To this creek where I'll cleanse you of sin.
And protest as you may, this is your Christening day.
And with that, he threw the lad in

As Ben reached the bank, he was given a yank
By the preacher with face so grim.
And the throng was amazed and they solemnly gazed
At the preacher lecturing him.

You'll no more run amok, for your one of the flock
You should fear the Lord's wrath with dread.
You'll be humble and mild, like a good little child
Or a spanner I'll take to your head.
The preacher it seems, had ended Ben's schemes
The 'good' in him now ran free
He changed his direction, he now sought perfection
A preacher he'd grow up to be

Peace reigned supreme on the banks of the stream
At the picnic there wasn't one brawl
Most men sat on logs eating freshly spiced frogs
And a good time was had by all.

K.D. Abbott © 2007

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A Bush Service