(header photographs by Harry Waite 1912-2011)

The Myth of the Sacred Brumby

 

 

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Contents

Contacts


Bundeena Ballad

 

Now making out a Walks Programme is very trying work,
But them as does it every time, their duties never shirk
And me I takes me old ‘at orf, to stalwarts such as these,
(Except when they makes out a walk like fifty-eight degrees.)
 
The Party numbered seven bods, (that’s counting Liz and all),
And within a few minutes we had left from Waterfall
At speed we flashed past hikers dressed in thongs and smart khakis,
In tent upon our compass course of fifty-eight degrees.
 
The great green forest welcomed us, but rest we would not dare,
For those of us who tramp the coast know of the leeches there.
And though the thorny scrub and bush tore at our painful knees,
That Tony Burke still led us on – at fifty-eight degrees.

The day wore on as we wore out, our feet they felt like lead,
And some of us were feeling sure we should have stayed in bed.
But then a voice (so loud) rang out, it echoed through the trees,
“The only way to get back home is fifty-eight degrees!”

A terrifying storm arose and came out from the Wcst
Then Leader gave us all a shock by calling for a rest.
So we looked out past Marley Head, out at the raging seas,
Then (need I add?) we carried on – at fifty-eight degrees.

Now walkers all, both young and old experienced or green,
If you’ve a compass that’s correct and you are feeling keen,
And if you’re looking for a walk that’s sure to be a breeze,
Take my advice and keep away, from fifty-eight degrees!

 
Barry Dwyer
The Waysider”
September 1963