Caravaning Bliss

Sue floating in 32 degrees at Bitter Springs, Mataranka.



Overtaking a 53 meter long road train.




For my birthday Sue bought me a book of poems by Bob Magor and here follows my favorite which anyone who has spent time in a caravan park will relate to. I hope you enjoy it.

Caravaning Bliss

There was movement at the station
so wrote down a famous man
But how did the Banjo know this
P'raps he towed a caravan.

Perhaps Banjo had been woken
in a van park from his sleep
Some two hours before the sunrise
by strange noises from the deep.

All the "erk,erk,erk" of van legs
being screwed up in the dark
As the first nocturnal trav'ler
starts to wake the sleeping park.

Then just like a feral mating call
some others answer back
With there "erk,erk" flaming chorus
as the first start down the track.

Ev'rything they packs metallic
and it clatters bangs and dongs
As they bark out loud instructions
amid hollow clacks of thongs.

Now its best to warm your motor
if your leaving in the dark
Especially if it's diesel
and jack hammers all the park.

Because now it's time to hook on
and you hear the circus start
More left-not right-I said this way
you pig headed deaf old fart!

And how dare you call me brainless
you ungrateful senile drone
If you don't want my directions
do it on your bloody own!

And by now the doors are slamming
just to finish off the show
Are you sure you turned the gas off?
you yell out, Just Bloody Go.

Because now its almost daylight
and the camp picks up the pace
As these geriatric gypsies
all begin the morning race.

Foe next park is their target
where like metal ants they flock
For the first in gets the best shade
and close ablution block.

But for us still vainly sleeping
we just toss and kick and turn
Who said holidays are restful?
Beauty sleep is what we yearn.

But there's miles of zippers zinging
as the tents all fold to go
And there's campervan doors grinding
as they whizz bang to and fro.

And there's neighbors out there yelling
"looks another nice day Fred"
And you think it would be better
if yo mob were still in bed.

You can't beat 'em so you join 'em
in this hyperactive spree
For the laundry's now in full swing
throbbing like a DC3.

To the bathroom men are walking
holding buckets with a lid
While discussing ageing prostrates
and comparing what each did.

Then rotten kid starts whinging
and will not do what he's told
"Bring back the lash" you yell out
"it worked fine in days of old!

All this action makes you thirsty
so you start to lift a lid
Then he comes from out of nowhere-
the eternal Outback kid.

He's a clone of Harry Butler
Malcolm Douglas rolled in one
He has fished and climbed and driven
ev'ry track under the sun.

And he brags about his conquests
twice round the bush and back
Though you half suspect his tinny
has been welded on his rack.

For this man is a fanatic
he has travelled ev'rywhere
After half an hours ear bashing
you wish he still was there.

Cause now in the park it's showtime
magic moments all can share
You prepare for entertainment
as you grab a beer and chair.

For here come the new arrivals
with the wives all looking terse
You thought leaving was a hastle-
well arriving's ten times worse.

Cause hand waving female logic
with male thinking won't compute
so a jack-knife on the van site
soon erupts in hot dispute.

It's as good as any circus
wife and husband on attack
As spectators in their deckchairs
watch the rigs shunt up and back

For there's trees and shrubs to back through
and a water tap of course
Ten the happy couple unhook
mostly ending in divorce.

Then in come tourist buses
with their worn out frazzled crew
And they bail out almost running
for they all have jobs to do.

Then a canvas city arises
built with hammers' echoed clacks
From the old girls driving tent pegs
like there laying railway tracks.

Then its 8pm cheap phone calls
poor mobile service to homes far away
Forcing half the park to eavesdrop
on each word they have to say.

Telling all about the weather
and adventures they've been through
then they swap and start repeating
from the others point of view.

Then the lights dim on the camp ground
and a gentle hush then falls
"Cept the drone of rasping snoring
through each caravans thin walls.

And you drift in gentle slumber
and sweet dreams flit through your brain
Till at 5am there's "Erk'erk'erk"
Hell here we go again.

We're in Katherine today with a temperature range of 14 to 29, it's tough.
Chris, Sue & Olly.