Murtoa Magic (Honourable Mention)
Posted: Sun Nov 28, 2010 8:14 pm
I picked up a HM at Murtoa's Big Weekend with this poem about the Mighty Murtoa Stick Shed. If you're not familiar with it, you can find out more about it here: http://www.murtoastickshed.com.au/
Murtoa Magic
© Stephen Whiteside 05.07.10
They couldn’t export wheat in the depths of World War Two.
It rose in piles around the town. What were they to do?
The rain and wind would spoil it, creating dreadful waste.
They had to find an answer, and they’d need to move with haste.
They chose to build a mighty shed to keep it warm and dry;
Nine hundred long, two hundred wide, and standing sixty high.
I’m talking feet (imperial), ‘cause back in ’41
When it was built, that was how the measuring was done.
How to keep the roof up? A challenge lay there steep.
They needed something handy that was strong, yet still quite cheap.
Five hundred trunks of mountain ash they used, and sixty more,
Rising like a forest from the solid concrete floor;
An eerie indoor forest, with no wombat, and no bird.
Stand inside and close your eyes. Not a sound is heard,
Unless the wind is blowing, then it warps and sighs and heaves.
It’s like a great cathedral. I’m told all tenseness leaves
You when you stand beneath its mighty vault, and slowly turn around.
Yes, for many folk who enter it great peace of mind is found.
It’s not been used for storing wheat for over twenty years,
And those who’ve come to love this mighty structure held great fears
That it slowly would disintegrate or, worse, would be destroyed,
And arguments to give the place a future were employed.
So what, then, was the outcome? Well, I hear the news is good.
There’s plans, and funds available to fix this shed of wood.
For, alas, it’s sore neglected, and the roof has two large holes,
And also (unsurprising) there are many damaged poles,
But the job is not too difficult. It all can be repaired.
(Indeed, it’s quite remarkable how well it all has fared.)
So I see a bonzer future. Yes, I see a brighter day,
When tourist buses from the towns all round will wend their way
To the great Murtoa stick shed, with its calm that treats all fear,
And they’ll marvel at past heroes, and those feats of yesteryear!
Murtoa Magic
© Stephen Whiteside 05.07.10
They couldn’t export wheat in the depths of World War Two.
It rose in piles around the town. What were they to do?
The rain and wind would spoil it, creating dreadful waste.
They had to find an answer, and they’d need to move with haste.
They chose to build a mighty shed to keep it warm and dry;
Nine hundred long, two hundred wide, and standing sixty high.
I’m talking feet (imperial), ‘cause back in ’41
When it was built, that was how the measuring was done.
How to keep the roof up? A challenge lay there steep.
They needed something handy that was strong, yet still quite cheap.
Five hundred trunks of mountain ash they used, and sixty more,
Rising like a forest from the solid concrete floor;
An eerie indoor forest, with no wombat, and no bird.
Stand inside and close your eyes. Not a sound is heard,
Unless the wind is blowing, then it warps and sighs and heaves.
It’s like a great cathedral. I’m told all tenseness leaves
You when you stand beneath its mighty vault, and slowly turn around.
Yes, for many folk who enter it great peace of mind is found.
It’s not been used for storing wheat for over twenty years,
And those who’ve come to love this mighty structure held great fears
That it slowly would disintegrate or, worse, would be destroyed,
And arguments to give the place a future were employed.
So what, then, was the outcome? Well, I hear the news is good.
There’s plans, and funds available to fix this shed of wood.
For, alas, it’s sore neglected, and the roof has two large holes,
And also (unsurprising) there are many damaged poles,
But the job is not too difficult. It all can be repaired.
(Indeed, it’s quite remarkable how well it all has fared.)
So I see a bonzer future. Yes, I see a brighter day,
When tourist buses from the towns all round will wend their way
To the great Murtoa stick shed, with its calm that treats all fear,
And they’ll marvel at past heroes, and those feats of yesteryear!