Chapter 116 : Night on the Green

Night on the Green is Newtown Primary School’s end of year concert.  We are greeted by a lone piper playing Christmas carols on his bag pipe. We are witnessing the birth of a new tradition. This year the concert features some of my grandchildren. While I wait for their appearance on stage I lie back on the grass, close my eyes and hop into my Tardis and fly back to when my children attended this very same school.

All the retired people are lounging in deck chairs. Their active turtle eyes beneath a carapace of blankets. Their grandchildren furnished them with food and drinks on paper plates and in paper cups.

The children play on the swings and make occasional visits to their grandparents. Just to make sure they have enough food and water and are not running around sniffing each other’s bottoms.

I hop back in my Tardis to 2018 and emerge lying on a blanket. One of my grandkids asks me if I want any food or water as she heads towards the BBQ. Has anything changed in the last 25 years?

Smoke wafts from the gas BBQ selling traditional Australian street food. The smoke is followed by the smell of sausages.  The smell triggers a queue.

The Aussie BBQ gives away veggie burgers, chicken or beef sausages and sliced bread. Served with a squirt of happiness and tomato sauce or BBQ sauce. Water is also given away in plastic bottles.

One day these children will travel the world and someone somewhere will say, “What’s your national food?”

Hopefully these kids will remember the camaraderie of Night on the Green and say, “Sausage and tomato sauce in sliced bread is one of our national foods.”

An adult at the microphone and one controlling the cables begin to waken the stage from its noiseless slumber. Each class gathers beside the stage then forms into rows and gets shepherded onto the stage. Each class is inclusive. Everybody in every class is on stage.

Looking at the kids I see a variety of clothes, reindeer antlers, Santa hats, numerous hairstyles and every possible physique.  I see good and bad singers, talented and dyslexic sportspeople, and every conceivable religion.  Everybody on stage sings and sways together.  The older classes remind me that children grow and change. They become louder, more unified and sing louder.

I see my grandkids looking for us. They curiously peer around eager to release a wave. We wave back at them. After their song they run back to us. And the one who enjoyed it the most is Kay who goes to Crèche. Next year she will go to this school. She stares open eyed at her future and loves the look of it.

The music from each class, the school band and the choir drifts away with the smoke from the BBQ. It dissipates between the trees and the empty school buildings. Each class sings a different festive song. A modern Australian Christmas carol. The songs feature kangas, koalas, playing cricket, beaches and the heat.  Baby Jesus and the manger has gone. Though presents and Christmas trees still remain. Most of the songs have actions. Waving of arms, swaying and sometimes a story is acted out.

Some of the families have bought hampers of food. Everybody seems to nibble on something better than what I have.

A phalanx of paparazzi parents forms in front of the stage. Photographing and videoing their children.   In order to record their children for different places and different times.

Between songs we lie back and don’t do the normal Hobart thing. We don’t talk about the weather. Because it’s perfect. Warm with no breeze. Harmless clouds hiding the mountain.

The concert finishes. Hopefully one day all the kids will remember this night. The way everybody was included. The way everybody sang. The way their grandparents turned up and listened and were a part of their schooling. They way they were a vital part of their lives. More than just pet dogs.