The threat of forest fires approaches as days wax hotter. Already, in New South Wales, a valuable forest was saved only after a desperate fight, and in the tree-clad hills of this State incipient fires are occurring.
Let 'em come, by gum! That's all I say. Let me see one of 'em up this way, With their sacks a-back an' their walkin' boots -- Low neck, short-panted hikin' coots -- Flingin' their fags in the brambles here, Same as that other one done last year. He might just once; but he won't no more. I'll nail his hide to the cow-shed door. A mile o' fencin' and two good hust All thro' them an' their lighted butts. Patronisin'? You're too dead right. These city fellers is awful bright -- Three good huts an' a mile o' fence! 'Tisn't so much me own expense; Three mile o' forest gone up in smoke! Well, ain't it enough to nark a bloke? The worst they done was in ninety-five. Poor ole Ben Bray, he'd still be alive It if wasn't for that camp-fire they left. But a burnt-out-home an' the kids bereft Of their dad. Yes; that was the toll that day; An' the fellers what done it miles away. Oh, there's fools in the forest as well as town. I ain't lettin' none o' me neighbors down. There's fools in the forests, as well I knows; Chancin' a burn when the north wind blows. An' they oughter be pinched . . . But them city skites, Suckin' their fags an' strikin' their lights! Just let me catch 'em! Vindictive? Me? Ropeable, am I? Well, wouldn't you be If you suffered the same from their smokin' butts? Three mile o' fencin' an' four good huts!
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2005|