Anthony W. Pahl
On Sundays Jacky would come over to me Nanna’s place to play
But on this particular Sunday I hadn’t finished me chores set for the’ day
I had wood to chop and chooks to feed ‘n’ bum nuts to collect
And if I never got it done, me Nanna’d wring me bluddy neck.
So Jacky, being me garden gate, said he’d help me out a bit
He grabbed a bucket with chook food and fed the chooks with it
I gathered up the bum nuts from the chook’s nests all around
Even though the bluddy chook’s nests weren’t so easy to be found
The White Kid (left) and brother, Alan ~ circa 1958The bluddy chooks was clever, more clever than even me
And when Jacky had fed the blighters he said, “Hey Bluey, come with me.”
He took me down the back yard where the prickles grew between the trees
And showed me where the chooks had nests underneath the prickly leaves.
Nanna was reel happy coz we found an extra dozen eggs
But she said we couldn’t go and play coz we hadn’t chopped the wood
I grabbed the axe, a heavy thing, stood taller than me head
And I swung it till me bluddy face turned awful colour of red.
Jacky wasn’t big as me, but he was stronger than a bull
He took the axe and swung it like it was the weight of wool
He finished chopping in half the time that it would’ve taken me
That job was done ‘n’ we figured we’d have the remaining daylight free.
But Nanna had another chore she never mentioned at all before
To empty the outhouse dunny slops, a job I hated worst of all
The dunny was in the garden not far from the house out back
‘n’ the slops had to be emptied in an hole down a stony track.
Sometimes Alan would help me (when I could con him or beat him up)
We’d put a stick through the handle ‘n’ carry the stinking bucket like that
I didn’t’ ask him too often coz’ the bugga was a galah ‘n’ bird
He’d drop his end of the stick and I’d be covered in stinkin’ turd.
When Jacky found out what I had to do, he ran least thirty yards
And pointed his fingers at me and nearly fell, he laughed so hard
With Nanna watching closely, I couldn’t sneak away ‘n’ hide
I grabbed the bucket firmly and got the bluddy thing outside.
I struggled with the stinking thing and sweat ran down me arms
It was least a hundred pounds and at least two hundred yards
‘n’ I swear to God that every bluddy stick ‘n’ rotten stone
Was placed in me way to be certain I’d break every bluddy bone
‘N’ all this time my best friend, me cobber ‘n’ garden gate
Was laughing his bluddy head off just waiting for me fate
‘n sure enough, it happened, me foot slipped on a stone
‘n’ if I was an abo, I know who’d have pointed the bone
©Copyright March 13, 2002 by Anthony W. Pahl