Uncle Willy

Uncle Willy was a legend in the district. The old folk rarely met without relating and laughing over one of the many yarns in which he figured.

At the height of the gold rush he had jumped ship to make his fortune in a land more liberal than his German fatherland. He had followed wherever the gold led, till he had grubbed enough from his claims to buy a sizeable spread of land once the gold gave out. He knew nothing of farming, but took to it with typical Teutonic thoroughness.

It was his attempts at farming that gave most joy to the locals, hard-bitten critics all.

I well remember - I was very young at the time - driving home one night with my father in the buggy. It was a cold, dark night. The stars shivered against the purple back-drop of the sky. Frost scrunched beneath the buggy wheels and the horse breathed smoke like some fairy-tale dragon. Altogether there was, to my tired young mind, an unreality about this late-night world.

As we topped the rise from which the road ran down past Uncle Willy’s small farm-house, there was an amazing sight. The great old gum-tree outside Uncle Willy’s barn was brilliant with light. Hurricane lamps hung from every branch of the tree. Against the darkness, the tree fairly blazed.

Dad reined in the buggy. There was a sharp intake of his breath, then a long, silent pause as he took everything in. Finally he drove up to the slip-rail gate not far from the house and got down from the buggy.

“Hey! Uncle Willy!” he called. “You there?”

“Ja, vat you vant?” Uncle Willy came slowly out of the barn.

“Got the Christmas tree lit up a bit early this year, haven’t we?” Dad jerked his head in the direction of the gum-tree.

“Christmas tree? Ach, nein, nein!” growled Uncle Willy.” Yous trying to yoke around again mit me? Vat a silly idea! It’s the sheeps, you know!”

Dad looked totally perplexed. Uncle Willy shook his head in reproof at my father’s ignorance.

“The sheeps, you know! Ist all lit up so the sheepses can see to have the little baa-lambs!”