This week, throughout the length and breadth of the Australian continent, wireless waves from both A and B class stations are broadcasting race descriptions and results, and myriads of ears are bent toward receiving sets.
This is the listening week of the year -- Listening-in. A-cock and alert is the national ear -- Listening-in. All over the land in the country towns, From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs, Layers of "quids" or the odd half-crowns, They are listening-in. On the far-flung farms they are round each set, Listening-in. The work and the worry they all forget, Listening-in. Wherever an aerial soars in space To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase, To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race They are listening-in. In the far outback there are sun-tanned men, Listening-in. Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen -- Listening-in. Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile; He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile, And he "reckons this game is well worth while" -- So he's listening in. To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go; And, listening-in, Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe -- Listening-in -- Recall the giants of years long past, And the loneliness of these spaces vast; But they reckon that life's worth living at last With this listening-in.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002|