From Naked Nell (Barellan) to Moombooldool

From Naked Nell (Barellan) to Moombooldool

Another retro post of a poem written some years back on other towns in my part of the world.  Naked Nell is the nickname of Barellan.  The Wiggles refers to bright coloured Police Highway Patrol cars.

From Naked Nell (Barellan) to Moombooldool

From Naked Nell to Moombooldool

Is not many speedo clicks,

As you traverse Burley Griffin Way

Dodging the ‘Wiggles’ tricks.
And Moombooldool noted late

Some of their sporting pride,

As you drive through Burnley’s Village

A plaque’s fitted by the roadside.
On a great plinth of granite stone 

A plaque sits there attached,

For traveling onlookers to cast their eye

On others who’ve been dispatched.
Dispatched persons who from times back then

When footy, tennis and cricket

Fielded sides from Moombooldool

And held their own on the wicket.
Good on the people of Erin Village

As Moombooldool once was known,

For remembering those who shaped their history

And the humble pride they’d shown.
So when you dash from Naked Nell

Towards the Kamarah straight,

Pause a moment in Moombooldool

The history is worth your wait.
Simon C.J. Falk

9 April 2013.

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‘Ardly Anythin at Ardlethan – a retro post

‘Ardly Anythin at Ardlethan

At times I have been moved to write poems about the places I work in.  Ardlethan is a small town of around 500 people.  Comment had been made that there is hardly anything there. However, at the time of writing, as now, I saw much there of interest. 

‘Ardly Anythin’ at Ardlethan
There’s ‘ardly anythin’ at Ardlethan!

In a statement once was said;

So can we find an answer?

To put the matter to its bed.
True there’s ‘ardly any traffic

To be managed at traffic lights;

But there’s ‘ardly any smog around,

To dim the stars during our nights.
There’s ‘ardly a sniff of round-a-bout,

And ‘ardly a court, crescent or cul ‘d sac;

But there’s creek and scrub and birdsong

As you take the cemetery track.
There’s ‘ardly any carriage way

With exits to this and that;

But there is the Newell Highway,

With trucks pelting along the flat!
Then there’s Burley Griffin Way

Taking cars to western plains;

And parallel, the graincorp load

Is borne along by trains.
There’s the mighty London Pub,

Which has stood up to the floods;

Where a schooner’s yours to grip upon,

As you taste it’s kitchen’s grub.
There is no huge cathedral

To dominate the street;

But where can you find a place

To wash exactly twelve pairs of feet?
Now the story of the feet

Is a story worth a tell;

Given I was there that night,

I remember it quite well.
It was a Holy Thursday,

Twelve were gathered on that day;

So in our Church at Ardlethan,

Twelve were washed in Jesus’ way.
It touched something deep within me,

And though I’m not really one to bet;

I’ll wager many tomorrows

It’s an event I won’t forget.
Now back to our original question,

Seems there’s ‘ardly any doubt;

There’s as much to amuse in Ardlethan,

As any little town about.

Simon C.J. Falk 6 January 2013