Though the bush may lack the attractions, the variety of sights and entertainments, and the festivities and general gaiety that the cities offer, Christmas-tide brings good cheer to the denizens of the ranges and forests, and is looked forward to and enjoyed in the humblest places.
It is a time when the scattered flocks foregather, from far and wide, under the old roof-tree. There are innumer- able homes from which many have gone out to battle with the world, as shearers, drovers, carriers, fencers, tank- sinkers, station hands, prospectors, miners, stockmen, and bush rouseabouts, leaving only the old couple and probably one or two of the younger members of the family. The "boys" may be working within easy reach, and they may be hundreds of miles" away. In either case, "mother" expects them home.
Preparations are made weeks beforehand; Willie and Jim and Bob are daily discussed, and surprises are planned for them. Their rooms are done up and readied, and the old paddock is made doubly secure for their horses, which, being strange, " are sure to try to make back." Chips and bones, leaves and pieces of paper are raked up and burnt in little heaps; the garden is trimmed up; the house is painted orwhitewashed outside; the steps and fireplace receive similar attention; and the inside walls are papered, if only with newspapers.
The sentiments of the old people in this respect are shared to a great extent by the young, whose thoughts turn now to home and kindred ties more than at any other time of the year; and some will bridge the gulf that lies between them in spite of all obstacles.
One Christmas Eve, a girl who had been at service at Winton (Queensland) started by coach for Boulia, where her parents lived. There had been heavy rains on the way, and on reaching Caddie Creek it was found impossible to cross the flood by vehicle, and the horses were taken out. But the girl was determined not to turn back, and she was equally resolved not to remain on the bank. She won the sympathy of the driver and a male passenger by telling them that she had never missed a Christmas dinner at home, and she did not want to miss this one. The men then fastened a strap round their bodies and, with the girl clinging to it between them, successfully negotiated a seventy yards" swim. At Middleton, some miles farther on, she swam another flooded creek on horse- back, and, drenched and mud-covered, she eventually reached Boulia in time to participate in the all-important function.
One of the principal features of the time is the gay array of bushes that deck the veranda-posts of the houses. In townsmen go round with dray-loads of green bushes, selling them for sixpence or a shilling a bundle; but, outside, they are cut and dragged home by the children. A big armful is lashed to each post till the veranda is hidden behind a wall of greenery. Even the selector"s hut, standing alone in a wilderness of trees, is annually decorated in this way; and the prospectors" camp, pitched where no one passes, and where the usual greetings are exchanged only between the two mates, sports an emerald cluster on the pole for "auld lang syne."Another custom favoured by those who still cling to old-world associations is the hanging of the mistletoe from the centre of the ceiling. Any bush does for a mistletoe in Australia. The bushman knows nothing of the old traditions that enshrine the bough; in his home, it is suspended mainly to minimize the annoyance caused by flies settling on the table.
More important than the mistletoe to him and his sister is the Christmas mail, which brings the pictorial annual, seasonable presents, cards, and letters from far-off friends and relatives. The arrival of the mailman, jogging along lonely tracks, is at all times welcome;but now he comes under the halo of a bush Santa Claus. The annuals are more appreciated by bush people than by city folk; the whole family will gather round, with heads clustered together, peering over one another"s shoulders, while one turns the pages.
On the goldfields, the miners take delight in secretlyintroducing a few small nuggets into the plum-duff-and they do not go round the table after dinner collecting them as some women do the coins. The gold becomes the property of the one who finds it, and it is made into pins, rings, and brooches. This habit of "salting" the pudding induces a good deal of prospecting, and, as the prospectors have to eat up the "tailings," it is probably the reason that so many people don"t feel very well after the Christmas feast.
Hop-beer, ginger-beer, and honey-mead are also made, and stored away in kegs and bottles. "Bee-trees" are plentiful in many parts of the bush, and a good nest or two is usually left for December, when the trees are felled and the bees robbed. The mead is made from the comb after the honey has been drained out of it. Sarsaparilla is another extensively- made drink, the vines growing plentifully among the ranges. The women and children are fond of these home-made drinks, but father is not always so enthusiastic.
A day or two before Christmas, the wanderers return. First comes Jim, cantering up the track with a valise strapped in front of him and a smoke-cloud trailing behind, while the old folks and the little ones are watching, with glad faces, from the veranda. Towards sundown, Bill appears on the hill in another direction, and comes jogging along quietly, with a well-loaded pack-horse, and with quart-pots, bells, and hobble-chains rattling and jingling to every stride. The children run shouting to meet him, and some ride backbehind him, and some perch on the pack. They help him to unsaddle and carry his pack-bags in; they take his tired horses to water, and lead them through the slip-rails, and let them go in the paddock with a gentle pat on the neck. The sun is down, perhaps, when Bob comes plodding slowly along through the trees, carrying his swag, and swinging a billy in one hand, while he shakes a little bush before his face with the other to keep the flies away.
"Poor old Bob," says mother, "still walking!" The young- sters race down the road again, and they carry his billy and tucker-bag for him, and hang on to his hands as though helping the tired traveller home.
They all talk to him at once, their eyes dancing with excitement, telling him that Jim and Willie are home, and that Strawberry has a calf, and the speckly hen has ten chickens. Bob listens with a dry smile as he plods along, recalling when he, too, was interested in Strawberry and the hens. When he reaches the door, the smile broadens, and he says, "Merry Christmas!" and throws his swag down against the wall. They crowd round him, wringing his hands till he feels tired, and ask him how he"s been getting on. "All right," says Bob, simply.
Though Bob has "humped bluey" home, he has probably as many pound notes in his pockets as those who came in creaking saddles, and he feels well repaid for his long tramp and his many months of hard work and battling in the back-blocks when he observes the pleased look on his mother"s face as he hands her the bulk of his savings.
The brothers " swap" yarns till late at night, telling of their experiences and adventures by flood and field; and each has some curiosity to show, brought home as a token or keepsake from strange and far-off parts of the bush. The old home, which has so long been dull and quiet, now rings with merry laughter and glad voices, and when Bob dances a jig the very roof shakes and the crockery rattles loudly on the dresser. There is an hour or two"s dancing, may be, to the strains of the violin. Then somebody goes off for the Jackson girls and the Maloneys and the Andersons, and old acquaintances are renewed-likewise the dancing.
On Christmas Eve the boys go out with the guns for scrub turkeys, pigeons, and ducks. Often they spend the whole day shooting in the scrubs and round the swamps and lagoons; and they come home well laden with game. All hands and the cook turn to after tea and pluck the birds. The bushman"s table is very rarely without game at this time.
Christmas Day is quiet and generally dull-a day of rest; but Boxing Day makes up for it with a quantum of sport and excitement. There are usually horse-races somewhere in the vicinity, or a cricket match between Wombat Hill and Emu Creek.
There are many persons in the bush every year to whom the festive season is only a memory. These are men campedin lonely parts, "batching" at the station out-camps and boundary-riders" huts. Some of them have been so long alone that, though they know that Christmas is somewhere near, they could not tell you whether it is two days ahead or two days past. I have often found man keeping up Saturday or Monday for the Sabbath, even within a few miles of town.
Edwabd S. Sorenson
Author.-Edward Sylvester Sorenson was born in New South Wales in 1869. He contributed to metropolitan newspapers when about 25, chiefly verse and stories of bush life. and entered upon writing as s profession in 1901. Author of The Squatter"s Ward, Quinton"s Life in the Australian Backblocks, Friends and Foes in the Australian Bush, Chips and Splinters, Spotty the Bower Bird, Murty Brown, etc.
General Notes.-This account of Christmas in the Early Days will come nearer home to adults than to young readers, for customs change, though they linger longest in remote places. What are the newer bush customs that Mr. Sorenson has not noticed? Do all that he has mentioned survive? Is he as accurate as he is interesting? What is the main motive that brings the family together? What fresh links has the bush with the city? Write an essay on Christmas in the City.
