Flood Party ’21 is a larrikin flood poem by The Wannabe Bush Poet, set around Abergowrie and the Herbert River near Ingham. It captures the strange mix of isolation, danger, humour and local character that can come when floodwater cuts a community off from town. This poem is shared as part of Keeping The Verse Alive, Country Campfire’s bush poetry preservation project.
Flood Party ‘21
by The Wannabe Bush Poet
The river’s up and Gowrie’s cut,
from Ingham — yes, the bridge is shut.
The Herbert thunders to the sea,
a holiday is met with glee.
It’s not for all, but it’s for some,
so they tear into Bundy rum.
To get to work they’d need a boat,
it must be time to oil the throat.
As water from the mountains runs,
it’s time to drink and shoot the guns.
For no police can make their way
to where they hardly ever stray.
To Abergowrie, deep inside
the valley that runs far and wide.
This river’s drop may take a while,
it’s hunting time for crocodile.
So locals wobble up and down
the road that’s now blocked off to town,
and barbecue down at the bridge.
I think today they’ll clear the fridge.
When smokers’ nails are chewed to bone,
they fly in durries on a drone.
But tinny runs we’ll see no more —
alas, The Ashton’s closed its door.
It’s theirs alone now, Gowrie Road,
and each man pools to share his load
of beer or spirits, wine or rum.
They’ll drink and sing until they’re numb.
Then out of nowhere comes a cry:
“If I don’t get my meds, I’ll die!”
Old Billy’s boots begin to splash
across the bridge — he’s made a dash
in through the currents, waters churn.
Bill’s waist-deep now and yet to learn
if crocodile will snap him down.
There’s danger living far from town.
For forty minutes he strides on
to grab the bag off his mate Don.
Then out the blue, a stroke of luck —
a fella in a four-wheel truck
is driving from the Ingham side.
Now surely he’ll be Billy’s ride!
But no! The mongrel’s gone straight past
and knocked Bill with a water blast.
He wobbles, but he keeps his feet.
Then on he goes — he won’t be beat.
Bill’s close to eighty, people say.
He’s lucky to survive this day.
A few more steps and he’s on land.
The poor old bugger hadn’t planned
for this flash flood. Now he’s gone pale.
He grabs his meds — then grabs an ale
and says, “Well, that was not too bad.”
The ’Gowrie breeds ’em tough and mad.
The rising flood reminds us all
that Nature makes the final call.
And though we think not, we will fall.
We’re just an act at Nature’s ball.
Listen to the Recital
Flood Party ’21 was recited by Country Campfire in 2021.
In many ways, pieces like this helped light the first spark for what later became the Country Campfire Bush Poetry Podcast — a place to keep sharing Australian bush poetry in spoken form. Country Campfire Radio Podcast.
Preserved Through Keeping The Verse Alive
This poem was originally shared with Country Campfire by a contributor using the name The Wannabe Bush Poet.
Country Campfire is preserving and republishing it as part of Keeping The Verse Alive, a bush poetry preservation project created to help keep Australian bush poetry, yarns and country stories alive.
Flood Party ’21 also holds a small place in Country Campfire’s own story, as one of the early recitals that helped inspire the later creation of the Country Campfire Bush Poetry Podcast.
Poems, recitals, photographs, stories and original works remain the property of their original creator and are shared by Country Campfire with permission.
