The best thing about Christmas in Australia is Christmas in Australia. Here we are, a multicultural community way down in the Southern Hemisphere. No snow, no sleighs, no mangers and no one knows much about the little chap whose birth didn’t really occur on the day we celebrate it.
But we all know of the visiting shepherds and three wise men said to have brought bizarre gifts to the little fellow. Oh, and there’s talk of angels being spotted in the vicinity.
The truth is an Australian Christmas is unique. And even though we do strange things, like decorating a plastic pine tree with stars and bunting, it’s really about getting together with families and opening the presents glowing in flash wrapping paper under said plastic tree. Then having a big feed where Uncle Aubrey gets pissed and slobbery, and maiden Aunt Jessica wants to play Monopoly because once in a dim distant Christmas past she won with every property on the board – including the train stations.
But my dear wife Wendy has the best Christmas story. When we lived at Batehaven for a few years, she taught at the local Batemans Bay school. As a music specialist, she produced the annual tableau of the birth scene in the manger. I was a mere onlooker that famous year when she persuaded a local lady farmer to lend an actual lamb to bring a bit of verisimilitude to the scene.
A stinking hot day it was, and the six-year-old kiddies were suddenly in showbiz. For some unknown reason, her wardrobe mistress had clad several angels head-to-toe in blue crepe paper. By the time the curtain rose and they entered stage left, the blue dye had started running down their foreheads and chubby cheeks.
The shepherds entered from the other side in gowns of tea towels until one waved at her mummy in the audience, tripped over her gown and into the back of the boy shepherd in front. The domino effect took place. Shepherds everywhere. Angels in blue masks. The parental audience hooting. Mary and Joseph unmoved, caring for the doll in the manger.
No gold, frankincense or myrrh were available in ‘The Bay’ that year. Wise men carrying silver sugar bowls filled with marshmallows, Smarties and Jaffas made their entrance, just as the lady farmer launched the lamb from the wings. Naturally, the audience applauded. The startled lamb responded with a pee so powerful that you could hardly believe it came from such a tiny bladder.
The tableau became unhinged. Blue angels, sprawling shepherds, wise men and even the doll’s doting parents panicked. Theatrical chaos threatened. That’s when the chunky headmaster leapt to his feet and shouted (of the lamb), “Get it off! Get it off!” And some bright spark in the audience cried, “It’s not prawn night at the club!”
By then, the parents, visitors and supporters were clutching their sides and falling off their little chairs. Wendy rose to the occasion and saved the day with her Aussie carol composed for just such an eventuality. To the tune of Jingle Bells, she tickled the ivories, the lady farmer rescued the lamb and the tableau recovered and sang:
Dashing through the sand, On a sunny summer’s day,
Surfboard in my hand, laughing all the way
Floating on the waves, we will swim and play,
Oh what fun to ride my board, this sunny Christmas Day, hey!
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way
Santa Claus is coming now, surfing all the way, hey!
Hurrah for dear old Santa Claus, hurrah for Christmas Day!
That’s what I call a fair dinkum Australian Christmas.
Published 21 December 2024.
Photo by Simone Viani on Unsplash.
