Christmas In Ingham

By Jonny Paul of Abergowrie‍At Christmas in Ingham it’s sticky and sweet.The sugar’s been cut and they melt in the heat.All tools have been downed and the cane knives are blunt.It's time for the boys with the pig dogs to hunt.And after they've butchered a sow or a boar -they'll drink ‘til they're blind and can't drink any more.The church is packed out for the Christmas Eve mass -where Jesus is laid with the cows, sheep and ass.St Patrick's is brimming and bursts with the cheer -of people who make it there twice in a year.Beer cartons of ‘middies’, like Northern and Gold,have been well stocked up for the young and the old.And bright the next morning when Santa's been through -you'd struggle to witness a merrier crew.The families all gather, while women prepareroast turkey with gnocchis and veggies to share.To squeeze them all in a huge table is dressedwith colours and crackers and food to be blessed.There's feasting and music and plenty of booze -‘til Nonno creeps off to his chair for a snooze.The aircon is blasting but no-one gets cool -so Christmas in Ingham spills into the pool.With four generations in some of these homes,all living in paradise - nobody roams.You might hear the sound of a bat and a ball -as cricket is played in the street or the hall.The ice in the esky puts up a good fight -it's 40 degrees in the day and the night.‍