The Pelican lives! This is good as he is a beautiful specimen. Apparently he was found at Ascot, not presumably wearing an unfeasible hat and putting bets on. There are lots of places in Australia called after places in England. Practically all of the North East is represented in New South Wales when miners from this area emigrated to work in the gold mines in the 1800s. Newcastle, Stockton, Wallsend, Killingworth even Jesmond and Gosforth have been reincarnated. In Western Australia, it seems a more Southern contingent came down under as I noted Guildford, Highbury, Caversham and of course Ascot.
We had some disadvantaged young people visiting the centre today. This is one of the partnerships NAR engages in to benefit the community. They were a small group of mixed race teens and not the most forthcoming of youngsters. They toured the premises and even got to cuddle the ever tolerant Peppi, but wouldn’t really speak unless interrogated in a jovially confrontational manner by Kelli, the vet nurse, which they seemed to like. One was an aboriginal boy called Jeff who was well over six foot tall and built like a line backer. He lived with eight brothers and three sisters in a close knit community. He regularly went out tracking animals in the bush and although he did respond to Kelli’s terrier like approach – ‘What does diurnal mean again then Jeff? If I see you in the street I’m going to ask you that question and I will expect an answer!’ – he wouldn’t look at anyone directly. Looking someone in the eye during conversation is apparently not the thing to do in aboriginal culture. Incidentally did you know that the Digeredoo is for MEN ONLY to play. So it was OK for Rolf Harris.
Fed the possums some flowering Eucalyptus. There’s nothing quite so cute as seeing a little possum face looking excited in a possum type way at the arrival of dinner straight from the Australian bush.
Towards the end of the afternoon, I asked one of the nice volunteer ladies if there was anything else I could do. ‘You can give the possum a new tail’ she said – ‘it usually has one in the bottom of its log that needs changing.’ I looked at her a askance. “A new tail?” I enquired. “A new tail she affirmed” looking at me as if I was one stubby short of a six pack “A ta-ul ” (you need to say this in a broad Ozzie accent) she elucidated slowly. ” Oh…. a towel!” I finally got it. Slight breakdown in communications resolved. Bunker Bay bound Enjoyed this post? Click on the dark bar on the right and subscribe by email!