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A Special Outback Christmas


A Special Outback Christmas

Sheila was a busy witch

Decorating her tin shack

For Christmas with her familiars

In the Australian Outback

Around the roof there hung in loops

Different coloured solar-lights.

She’d asked Big Red to put them up

As she was scared of heights.

Beneath the tree were several gifts

Tied in recycled wrapping

As the wireless sang out festive tunes

Her feet were tap-tap-tapping.

This year they had company

Hilda’d joined them for the break

She’d brought a tin of mince pies

And her home-made Christmas cake.

The bilby whistled merrily

As he took out the trash

When from nowhere, without warning

Came a loud almighty CRASH!



They opened up the front door

And were greeted with a hoof.

Santa and his reindeers

Had crashed landed on the roof.

Poor Santa hung upside-down

From the worn-out, clapped out sleigh

And a couple of his reindeers

Were in quite a sorry way.

‘Please help us down,’ the old man cried.

‘We seem to ‘ave gotten stuck!

Of  all the days to break down

Crikey!  This is just my luck!’

Sheila pulled her wand out

With a small flick of her wrist

They all fell from the rooftop

‘Ouch!  Gentle!’  Santa hissed.

‘I’ll never get the job done now,

While all the children sleep,’

Came Santa’s voice dejectedly

From the bottom of the heap.

But something didn’t look quite right.

His white beard wasn’t real!

And he was thin, like what he needed

Was a proper home-cooked meal.

The witches were not silly

It was clear to them of course,

That this was an imposter,

Not the real Santa Claus!

The witches looked him over

Then checked him once again

‘There’s clearly something,’ Hilda said

‘That you need to explain.’

And don’t you come the raw prawn.

It’s pointless to deny it.

That sleigh isn’t yours, is it?

You couldn’t even fly it!’

‘I’d really rather not,’ he said

In a tiny feeble voice.

‘If you want us to help you,

I don’t think you have a choice.’

‘The real Santa’s getting old

And his body’s growing weary

So he’s taken on apprentices

Which is well and good in theory.’

‘He hires out the costumes.

Supplies reindeers and a sleigh.

Pays our fees for Santa-school

Then sends us on our way.’

‘The elves are still responsible

For manufacturing the toys.

And Santa says which kids get what,

We’re just delivery boys!’

‘Now almost every country

Has a Santa of its own

And all of us are dressed to look

Just like a Santa clone.’

‘Fair dinkum – What will happen?

Who’ll deliver all these toys?

I’ll be a disappointment

To the Aussie girls and boys.’

The reindeers were all injured

And the sleigh was split in two

‘We’ll have to help the poor man,’

Said the witch’s kangaroo.

‘Of course we’ll need some magic dust

And we’ll borrow Hilda’s ute.

The children never need to know

If you wear Santa’s suit.’

‘I suppose that I will have to go.’

Said Sheila to her crony.

“Those clothes will never fit you.

You’re far too small and boney.’

Sheila didn’t like the thought

Of all the children crying.

But it meant that she would have to face

And beat her fear of flying.

Santa could not believe it.

‘I don’t know what to say.

Here, help me load the ute up.

Put the presents in the tray.’

Sheila smiled nervously

At her unexpected guest.

And despite her fear of flying

Vowed to do her very best.

‘We wish you a safe journey.’

Called  Santa and the gang

As the ute took off into the sky

With it’s usual PHUT-PHUT-BANG! 

So the Outback witch saved Christmas

With her mate, the kangaroo

She delivered all the presents

So she must have come to you.

To show his thanks, ‘our’ Santa

Cooked the witches Christmas dinner.

After such a busy night they’d felt 

At least three kilo’s thinner!

Big Red said they’d had a ball

And they all agreed it was

Remarkable that in one night

They’d managed to fly ‘round Oz!

It was a cracking dinner,

(Though the turkey was too dry)

And Sheila told the others

How she’d been too scared to fly.

‘I might take the ute out

For one last final spin,’

Said Sheila wiping gravy

From off her second chin.

Now every year at Christmas

Sheila laughs when she looks back

To the year that she saved Christmas

And rescued Santa from the sack.

So if you should see Santa

And something’s not quite right

Cast your mind back to the witches

And what happened on that night.

If he has a funny beard

Or no hair on his top lip

He’s probably on his training

For a Sant-a-pprenticeship!


Jolene Humphry




Jolene enjoys writing, sharing and connecting with other like-minded women online – it also gives her the perfect excuse to ignore Mount-Washmore until it threatens to bury her family in an avalanche of Skylander T-shirts and Frozen Pyjama pants. (No one ever knows where the matching top is!) Likes: Reading, cooking, sketching, dancing (preferably with a Sav Blanc in one hand), social media, and sitting down on a toilet seat that one of her children hasn’t dripped, splashed or sprayed on. Dislikes: Writing pretentious crap about herself in online bio’s and refereeing arguments amongst her offspring.

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