a poem by Ron Strahan based (loosely) on an incident at our wedding reception
When kids around the winter fire
Are seeking for a thrill,
Their father tells the story
Of the night at Leonard's Hill.
"It was a quiet party",
Says Mr Philip Wells.
"The music never rose above
A hundred decibels,
And everyone was happy
And we quite enjoyed the do
Until we went outside
And couldn't find the Subaru.
Some rotten thieving bastards
Had nicked it, that was clear,
And, on the side, had whizzed away
A solid slab of beer.
There was not any panic
In searching for the crooks:
It's just that everybody
Ran around like headless chooks.
Some chaps were keen on lynching,
While we preferred the police,
But phone were not available
And so, to keep the peace,
A vigilante group was formed
(Including us poor owners)
To set off for Koorwingie
And to ring them from Fiona's.
We'd hardly gotten halfway there
(With thoughts of vengeance burning)
When we espied the Subaru,
Not fleeing, but returning.
We chucked a u-ee smartly
And then settled to a chase
That led us very swiftly
To the general parking place
From which the car had vanished,
And - as cool as cool can be -
Out stepped a bearded bugger
And surrendered to us three.
He offered his confession
As we slipped him in the noose:
He simply had a passion
For abducting Subarus.
He didn't care who owned them;
He had a handy key
That opened any Subaru,
As anyone could see.
And who, he asked, could blame him
If he took off for a burn?
The owners could rely upon
A swift and safe return.
A sneaky Sydney slicker,
He could make his points with skill,
But people have their doubts about him,
Out at Leonard's Hill.
One thing they don't have doubts about,
My oath! No bloody fear!
Is who it was responsible
For knocking off the beer."
R.S. September 1996
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Last updated: 29 December 1997
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