A Christmas Carrot

A battered FJ Holden ute heads down a dirt track toward an old farmhouse on the Wimmera plain. It’s Christmas Eve, and the driver, a shearer, is sipping a warm bottle of beer while he plans how to catch a few yabbies in the neighbour’s dam for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. His boys aren’t keen on yabbies, but his young daughters love dangling blobs of meat under the water to entice the miniature crayfish into their waiting nets. Once caught, they end their days in boiling water and are considered a delicacy to rival the best seafood.

As he climbs out of the Holden, the crack of a distant rifle shot raises a smile. No doubt that will be his boys bagging a rabbit or two for the dog’s Christmas dinner. Old Jack the sheepdog welcomes his master home with a gentle growl and watches him walk in the back door of the house.

Entering the kitchen, the shearer sees his wife, baby on her hip, shelling peas at the sink and his eldest daughter, Philomena, slicing carrots for tomorrow’s Christmas feast.

‘Hello, Darl, how….’ His greeting is cut short by his three little daughters, who run at him, shouting and grabbing his greasy trousers.

‘Daddy, Daddy……………………… Daddy, it’s terrible!’

Their father looks down at his three daughters and grins before replying.

‘Girls, girls, steady on. What’s terrible, Kristen? Santa’s coming tonight with lots of presents.’

‘Daddy, Santa won’t bring our presents because Joe and Gerard have got the spotlight and guns and…’

‘The guns? Oh, yes, I heard them shooting rabbits up in the paddock. They’re getting a couple of bunnies for the dog’s Christmas dinner.’

‘No, Daddy, they aren’t shooting rabbits. Gerard and Joe said they are shooting reindeer tonight. Santa Clause’s sleigh has reindeers – they might shoot at Santa’s reindeer. Then he won’t bring our Christmas presents down the chimney.’

The distant thud of a shotgun signals that his sons mean business.

‘Scissors – we will see about that!’

He strides out the back door and, moments later, bawls out to the reindeer hunters.

‘Gerard – Joe – bring the guns back now and get the firewood for Mum.’ A distant call confirms they have got the instructions. They dare not disobey their father’s orders.

The shearer returns to the kitchen and pulls a bottle of Fosters Lager out of the fridge.

‘There you are, girls. The boys aren’t going to shoot any more reindeer.’ But the look on his daughter’s faces told him they weren’t convinced.

‘Please, please, Daddy, can you ring up Santa and ask him to bring our presents – please, please, please?’ Therese pops her thumb back into her mouth and looks up at him with her big brown eyes. He wilts.

‘That’s a great idea, Therese; I’ll give him a bell now.’ He walks over to the party line phone on the wall, winds the handle and listens for the operator to answer.

‘Hello, Miss. Can you please put me through to Mr Santa Clause? I think he lives at the North Pole.’ Dad is silent for a few moments, ‘Wonderful, thank you, Miss. And a Merry Christmas to you too.’ Dad continues to hold the receiver to his ear as he looks down at his daughters, who are crowding around his legs.

‘Hello, hello, is that you, Santa? It’s Lang Dean - Lang Dean from Murra Warra?’ He stops and listens, then continues, ‘I’m ringing to say that it’s all clear over Murra Warra tonight to land your sleigh.

We had a problem with my boys trying to shoot at reindeer, but I sorted that out – they’re getting the wood now.’ Again, he listens, looks at the ceiling and waits, ‘Yes, yes, our house does have a green roof.’

Therese, Kristen and Susan hang on every word.

‘That’s right, Santa, we are next door to Bill Ward’s place…hmmm…. oh, that’s wonderful, you can drop in here after you deliver the Wards’ presents,’ answers Dad as he cradles his bottle. ‘One other thing, Santa; when you come in to land your sleigh, keep an eye out for the ABC radio antenna in Dooen. It would make a terrible mess if your reindeer hit the wires.”

Dad signs off with one last comment, “And there might be a little something on the front veranda for you, if you know what I mean, Santa. Goodbye and Merry Christmas to you and Mrs Clause.’

He hangs up, turns to his daughters, and announces that Santa is coming down our chimney as planned. Therese, Kristen and Susannah jump and run around the kitchen laughing. Their mother says that Santa could have done without the navigational advice while Philomena gently shakes her head and rolls her beautiful eyes.

Philo cuts a lump of Christmas cake, selects a carrot from her pile and takes a bottle of beer from the fridge. Her sisters join her, carefully placing the cake, the carrot and the bottle of beer on the front veranda. The Santa trap is set...

The Wimmera plains darken. Three little girls in pyjamas lie on their parents’ bed. Rosanne snuggles into her father’s arms, and the Christmas story begins.

‘Once upon a time, there was a little mouse named Therese. She ran...’

‘But, Daddy, I’m always the mouse,’ says Susannah.

‘You’re exactly right, Susan. Therese Mouse ran over to get her friend, Susan Mouse, and they both went to play in the park with

Philo Rabbit, Kristen Magpie and Rosanne Kangaroo. Then, along came a reindeer with a red nose. He said, “Hello, my name is Wandolph and I’m…”’

‘Rudolph, Daddy - not Wandolph – Rudolph,’ says Therese,

rolling her eyes.

‘Yes, you are exactly right again, Therese. Woo-dolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer said to his new friends, “I’ve got lots of food in my sleigh. Who would like to join me for a picnic?” All of the animals clapped and helped Woo-dolph set up the picnic. There were toffees and hundreds and thousands sandwiches and Strasbourg meat and milkshakes and...’

‘And lemonade too?’ says Kristen.

‘Yes, yes - lots of lemonade and likrish straps and chocolate ice creams and icy poles and lollies and …’ Sometime later, the story ends, and everybody goes to bed.

Later that night, the shearer calls his boys, ‘Gerard, Joe… here.’ They wake, get dressed and follow their father into the paddock. He carries a sugar bag, Joe carries a kerosene lantern, and Gerard follows with a length of rope. It’s freezing cold and the sky is lit by the Milky Way.

A cow is standing in the paddock, mooing. A little hoof is sticking out of her bottom.

‘Here, Gerard, tie the rope on the leg and pull when I say. Joe, hold the lantern up higher.’

Joe, standing in his dressing gown and slippers, raises the lantern. His father stands behind the cow and puts his arm inside her to turn the calf. All the time, he soothes her and tells her everything’s going to be all right. The cow moos and wobbles.

‘Pull.’ Gerard pulls.

‘Hold it there.’ Gerard holds.

‘Pull.’ Gerard pulls, and a slimy lump falls out of the cow onto the wheat stubble.

It moves. The mother turns, moos and licks the lump. A little calf stands up in the lantern light and nuzzles up to its mother’s teats for its first drink. The father and his boys walk home to bed.

It’s barely light outside when Kristen bounces up and down on her parents’ bed.

‘Mummy, Mummy, Santa came. He brought me a Barbie doll, with dresses.’

Therese carries a plate and an empty brown bottle into the bedroom.

‘Daddy, Mummy. Santa came and he ate some cake and drank all the beer.’

‘That’s wonderful, Therese,’ says her mother, ‘Santa needed a snack. It would be hard work taking all those presents to little children around the world.’

‘But, Mummy, Wudolph didn’t eat the Christmas carrot we left on the veranda for him. Poor Wudolph!’

‘Don’t be silly, Therese Mouse,’ replied Susan Mouse, ‘he won’t be hungry because he was at our party, remember? He had ice cream and lemonade and lollies…’

Outside in the paddock, a little calf moos.

---

The 3WV (Western Victoria) radio transmitting tower at Dooen in the Wimmera was erected in 1936.

No doubt Santa took Dad’s advice and kept a close eye on the antenna when landing in Murra Warra. After all, he wouldn’t want bits of reindeer flying all over the Wimmera on Christmas night!