Jesus goes to Peak Hill

Written out bush in September for the kitchen wall of the last remaining house in Peak Hill, 150 km north of Meekatharra. The house is owned by Tony Burrows, and has been in his family since 1899. Several vistors to the house have penned odes to Peak Hill. All refer to it as hell, if not directly then certainly between the lines.


When Jesus came to Peak Hill, His second time around,
He was chauffeured in a ‘Cruiser – no donkeys could be found.

It went rattle-rattle-rattle, over gully-outcrop-gully,
He said “What’s the problem driver? My back feels kinda funny.”

“We’re in Peak Hill,” the driver said, “And that’s just what it’s like.
If you’re keen I’ll cut ya clean, and lend ya my old bike.”

Jesus thought the bloke was lyin’ – pullin’ a leg or two,
So He threw a query back at him, to check his word was true:

“So in this big flat land, this pancake of a place,
You’re sayin’ there’s a little town that only billygoats could grace?”

The driver said “That’s right, but just cop it on the chin.
Muscles loose and mind at ease – don’t let Peak Hill win.”

Had broken many men, this town, or so the codger said.
The rocks, the dust, the heat, the flies: “It does things to your head.”

Jesus stewed up mighty dark, in the shakin’ shotgun seat:
“I been to Baghdad, Kabul, Meekatharra, but this one’s got me beat!”

Fed up, He got the sat phone, ‘n got right up his Padre:
“There’s two ways we can do this, Lord – the easy or the hard way.”

“Jesus Christ!” said God, “It’s ages since you called.
Now, about this Peak Hill place – I can explain the flaws.

“That first day was mighty long, designing A to Z,
‘Bout half-past-ten at night, I was craving a cup of tea.

“Then while I drank the cuppa (and, to be honest, a quiet gin),
Satan crept into the shed and carved old Peak Hill in.

“But JC, take it easy, your daddy’s got a plan,
To liven up the place, to make it rise again.”

So the bloke upstairs explained the go, while Jesus listened in,
And when the Lord was finished, the Son hung up with a grin.

“Hey driver would you like a tip, better’n greyhounds or the horses?
See me old man’s blessed a little mob called Alchemy Resources.

“So get your cash together – there’ll be copper, gold ‘n iron.
And with God as stand-in chairman, their shares will be a-flyin’

“But in place of you old characters, diggin’ out the dirt,
There’ll be a mob of useless Kiwis, in fluoro orange shirts.”