The Bundaberg Ballad

Under the auspices of Kingaroy Rotary Club, a busload of miscreants embark at the Petersens' home.

A cool but sunny August day
That declared the arrival of Spring,
Saw us packing our bags away
With the six packs John told us to bring.

This leads to a small diversion,
How did the six packs get there?
Well Jean had declared that pyjamas
We must buy because a unit we'd share.

John had an idea about sharing,
'Cause he time on the tractor to think,
He thought it more friendly and caring
To invest the same money on drink.

We drove up and all congregated
On the driveway to Lex's home,
Where a white bus was soon inundated,
By twelve travellers all set up to roam.

We begin our journey northward and stop at Childers. Here we meet a lady whose surliness is transformed to mirth as John describes the effect a sneeze has on a new computerised writing program.

The sun rose higher on our right,
As Geoff drove us on to Childers,
And since Don wasn't there, we chatted all right,
But not about batsmen or fielders.

The sky was blue, the white bus flew,
It rattled and ranted and roared,
Till it came to a stop at a small coffee shop,
Where the owner looked surly and bored.

She seemed a little bit overwhelmed
By such a rambunctious bunch,
But decided it best to tolerate us,
Since we all seemed so keen on some brunch.

She joined in the group's raucous laughter,
As John told how his computer wrote,
"That's filth" - this comment came after,
He sneezed while dictating a note.

From Childers we continue on to Bundaberg.

Childers is noted for canefields,
And a memorial to the kanakas,
And its newly built art gallery,
That commemorates those young backpackers.

From here we follow a tortuous route,
A result of the Petersens’ knowledge
Of every road and wallaby track,
Geoff left his maps back at the college.

The weekend is filled with interesting trips, great fun and riotous good humour. We visit the rum distillery, watch cane being planted and harvested, marvel at the high-tech hydroponic tomato establishment, and potatoes being grown and dug.

	What a weekend of fun and good humour, We watched the harvest of sugarcane and spuds, Saw a short-sighted sailor thread a needle - the rumour Is true it was to fix up John's duds.
	In the field where potatoes were growing, We're expecting John's batteries to sprout, Where Geoff on the trailer was showing How the crook spuds are quickly tossed out.

We visited the Bundy distillery,
Where said sailor received double his tot,
And we dined at a hotel - it was hilari-
Ous the size of the meal that John got.

The trip comes to an end. We board our bus and head off, but this is via a strawberry plantation that serves the most luscious pancakes with their fruit and whipped cream. We stop for a while in the CBD and have a meal in the park where Cath and Marian ride a 21st century seesaw. We also visit Bert Hinkler's home and wander through a museum. After all this, we have a coffee break, find Sally and head home.

To travel back to Kingaroy is not easy, When there's still so much left to explore, Our windscreen was dirty and greasy, And to clean it was John's parting chore. We went to a strawberry plantation, Where glorious pancakes were ordered, Our sailor gave in to temptation And downtown bought a cage for his bird.

	Now Geoff and John are clever men Who cooked breakfast with great skill But Jean spoonfeeding John ice cream Begs the question: do advanced men spill?
We had a great meal in the gardens With sandwiches Sally put together, Two older girls then begged our pardons And rode a seesaw - were they under the weather?
	Daylight was fading and the moon soon rising When we all became much wiser, Sally dug out some sweets so Alex could bring Enlightenment how earth and moon rotater.

As darkness set in we arrived again
At the point where we started this rhyme,
We hope there's a trip on next year, so till then,
All the best, and have a great time.

Alex, the Poet

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