JUST SIXPENCE SIR
ALM No.95, November 2026
POETRY
1st January 1915,
A camel Cava-leer….. an Ice cream-man and Vendor.
On New Years Day, took up arms against Australia….due to its attack on Gallipoli.
In Broken Hill, the “Oddfellow” sports convention had planned to celebrate their New Year with a picnic, by traveling by Locomotive train to Silverton.
The two men, had stationed themselves on the track and opened fire on the exposed open carriages…. Killing two young picknickers.
In their attempt to escape, a police constable and an unlucky farmer, was also shot.
Armed police and a huge mob of blood thirsty men took chase and corralled them in the outcrop of “White Rocks Reserve.” Where a three-hour gun battle followed, where they eventually were shot dead.
The carnage subsequently re-opened up strong racist undertones.
Resulting in the “Gaman Club” At Broken Hill being fire bombed by an angry revengeful mob.
My Poem:
“Just Sixpence Sir“……spruiked the vendor across the street.
“Just Sixpence for one scoop of life.
“The Vanilla good today.”
The world was warring.
Craziness, stupidity to spare.
His spirit soul, mentor… Mullah, on this day……. spoke to him so clear.
Saw his “Red, Moon flag” flutter, from his long-time ice-cream van.
Saw his homeland, “Turkey” bleed.
Saw his, sister’s donkey, dead.
Saw his father blood soak silent… his land no more.
The Cava-leer and Vendor…friends, long-time travelers of note.
Men of Honour, men of faith and passion, men with ties to family and peace.
On this day, heard the pleas. …. saw their evening star grow dim.
Will tomorrow ease their pain?
“Just Sixpence Madam…
“Vanilla good today”.
The locomotive puffed its smoke, as it passed the wood-yard gate.
Blue sky, clear and hot..… broad brim hats today.
Songs and laughter, rhythmic wheel-track clatter, oozed from revelers onboard.
Anticipated beer and whisky, Silverton around the bend….just a few miles more.
But then…. just then and again?
Coul it be?
A rifle shot split the air…two more shots …and more.
A wedgetail cought an uplift draft…. climbed for better look.
From vantage point on high…. Saw the locomotive’s white smoke puffs.
Saw ice cream moon flag waving.
Hear the whistle screech a warning.
Saw the flash of guns below.
Saw the panic, tears and fears.
Four Young souls…. No more.,
Epilogue:
The Eagle. remembers well that day, so long long long ago,
That day when ladies done their broad brim hats, and sang the song of “Australia fair”
Would also hear the ghostly wheel track clatter, echo from the cliffs.
To be carried further by a new hot North wind… .and loose itself across the vast stretching Outback plains
And, then…If you listen carefully my friend…You may also hear a spruiker call.
“Just sixpence Sir”
“Only Sixpence for one ice cream scoop”
“Vanilla good today”
Henning Herringe is an old..old man.
Most of his hair has gone to another world.
He writes this stuff in the hope the rest of him won’t follow…at least for a while.
He has written a few poems/tales so far. Some of which have successfully been taken up.
He arrived in Australia in 1957, with his parents.
The family came from a small fishing village on the shore of Roskilde Fjord (Denmark).
As a boy would often visualize majestic Dragon ships sailing past his home, on their way to Roskilde,
The then old Viking town on the end of the fjord.
As the new kid on the block, went to school in Adelaide, was educated with engineering disciplines.
And subsequently set up his own Modelmaking and Design business.
He is now retired to smell his wife’s many roses; she has planted in their garden.
He holds deep concerns for Climate Change and social inequalities.
He believes his times in the 60th…just the best.,
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