Screams woke me from my sleep. Sleep that had been brief; the sleeping bag offered little in the way of comfort.
A faint glow from the dying fire gave me enough light to scramble from the tent and follow the high pitch screams. Anxious faces peeped out from small tents scattered around the clearing, voices mumbling. ‘What wrong Mrs. M. Are they ok?’
The tent flap flung aside, crawling in to be confronted girls, mouths open, frightened screams emitting continuously as they huddled in the back of their tent, arms around each other seeking safety.
My torch grabbed as I ran, from the table where crockery sat ready for breakfast at the school camp in the mountains.
The light revealed a young mangy fox, huddled close to the side of the tent, he twice as frightened as the girls.
‘Dingo Dingo’ came the cries. It echoed around the camp ‘Dingo Dingo.’ Finally, a group of teachers appeared, heads through the tent opening
‘What’s up? God it’s a dingo.’ ‘Get out of the way’ I instructed.
A handy jacket wrapped the quivering kit securely, I carried it to the edge of the scrub. Scampered off, glad to be away from these weird humans.
The girls, no way were they going to settle, so Mrs. M had the joy of sharing the tiny tent with three giggling girls until dawn. Coffee in the dawn light well earned.
By Pamela Meredith
Tea For Two
Tea for two, what magic this weaves. When troubles are shared o’er this brew of the leaves
A pot on the stove, a kettle or billy. Then teabags are great in our fast modern world.
As friends and acquaintances share a quick cuppa. Where does it come from, this brew that we drink?
From dark and mysterious mountaintop villages. We relax and enjoy our cup of hot tea.
Unless we’re a Yankee, then iced tea we’d see. No matter how we decide to enjoy it.
At table with lace and fine china to sit. Or out in the bush with a campfire lit.
Whenever it is, by day or by night. Tea for two is a definite ‘uppa’.
by Jill Baggett