1. Happy Australia Day - continued

    We are continuing our celebration of Australia Day by sharing from Norman Lindsay’s classic children’s book, The Magic Pudding. We’re dedicating this one to Australian Prime Minister Julia Gillard, who will probably prefer to forget today. This is Bunyip Bluegum reciting; he is, of course, addressing the Pudding thieves Possum and Wombat.

    The blows you feel we do not deal
       In common, vulgar thumping;
    To higher motives we appeal—
    It is to teach you not to steal,
       Your heads we now are bumping.
       You need not go on pumping
    Appeals for kinder dealing,
       We like to watch you jumping
    We like to hear you squealing.
       We rather think this thumping
    Will take a bit of healing.
       We hope these blows upon the nose,
       These bended snouts, these tramped-on toes,
    These pains that you are feeling
    The truth will be revealing
    How wrong is puddin’-stealing. 

  2. Happy Australia Day!

    Happy Australia Day! We wanted to share the slightly controversial national day of Australia by sharing a paragraph from the recently released Walkabout by James Vance Marshall. The action so far: a plane has crashed in the middle of the Australian Outback, leaving two American children as the only survivors. Stranded in a harsh environment, they run into a young Aboriginal boy, in the middle of his initiation to manhood, his Walkabout, a solitary walk that can last as long as six months.

    Late in the evening they came to the head of the valley, where it petered out on the edge of a million-acre plateau. The trees were still with them, though not so thickly-growing now. So were the birds. The chat-chats, the corellas, and the sweetly-singing bell birds; and, a little before dark, the bustards. There were three of the bustards. Foolish, inquisitive birds, rather like scraggly turkeys, they followed the children almost at their heels: sniffing, scratching, and plump enough to satisfy the hunger of three. Slowly, imperceptibly, the bush boy dropped behind; edging every closer to the foolish birds. Suddenly—as if it had been thrown—his hand flew out. His fingers closed round the baby bustard’s neck; cut off its life in a single twisted jerk.