THE GYPSYBELLE CAPERS - DINOSAURS ON WHEELS

THE BLUE MINGELA MOON EPIC

Gone, done for.... The 'pubs' have bit the dust

The freedom of swaggies,

 Old dreams now gone to rust

Now its resorts and reserves, NO CAMPIN' on the grass

No barflies on verandahs,

now its cocktales under glass

For a sad old roamin' rhymer, there's no copy for the pen

But once in a blue moon

I find pure gold agen!

Born a bushman's daughter, I mourn the lost delights

When dad, he tuned the fiddle

 And bush folk howled the nights!

A blue moon on the rise, I sat grievin' for the fun

Then I loaded up old Gypsy

And took the Western run

Compared to childhood travel, my motor bike seemed tame

Not Grampa's bullock dray

But the crows still looked the same

Aark! A blue moon risin' seeped magic to my bones

Gypsy howled for freedom!

A pox on city phones!

My mob was on the Fletcher, our aim was headin' straight

But a wafting on the wind

Whispered "take a left here, mate"

Was that corn beef? And cabbage? And beer! All golden yeller

I checked out the signpost

The legend said Mingela!

Gypsy took the turn off, I swear she knew the way

Like that old blue dog

From my youth of yesterday

And there it was a gleamin' like a diamond in the dust

A tin roofed pub verandah

Grandly sagging through the rust

Home sweet! My pen began to itch

On a blue Mingela moon

I truly struck it rich!

Harleys! And horses! The devils' wildest crew

And the heavenly aroma

Of bulldust, yarns and stew!

They were hangin' out of winders and clingin' to the rails

The bikers mean in leathers

And the ringers tough as nails...

Bonhomme unheard of in breeds of chalk and cheese

A crow and cockatoo

Were even cackling in the trees

"Mad buggers" I muttered, to my great unholy glee

This publican was crazy

But the rest I had to see...

The walls were sagging crooked and the ceiling had a droop

'Neath a sign that said "FOR SALE"

There were pumpkins on the stoop

Fifty years or so of ageing marked the loony wall décor

Above the bar, bedecked in sun shades

Hung a black, ferocious boar

The dunny down the back was a classic of the times

When'thunder box' met 'septic'

Isolated for its crimes!

To this historical hysteric clung the trellis for the roses

That were planted in the past

To protect the patrons' noses

Poetically I wondered if I'd died and gone to heaven

A blue moon in the daylight?

It was barely gone eleven

Serene, mongrel country echoed yahoos from the pub

Lunch! It dawned upon me

They were all here for the grub!

T'was simple female logic, mine hostess grinned "You see,

I don't feed 'em if they fight

Have a drink, the tucker's free!"

Five stars! Bloody perfect! I figgered, what the heck?

If the mob got out of hand

There was nothin' left to wreck!

So to Ivan and Moanna, bush publican's true blue

May the blue moon o'er Mingela

Ever shine its light on you!

M.C.B.