ORPHANS CHRISTMAS 1988

     Not everyone is fortunate to have family to share Christmas with. In Darwin this was more relevant than most places I have lived. A remote city with a transient population of young and carefree wanderers. Most of these residents relied on mateship to offer that homeliness, goodwill and sharing when far from family.

     In many cases it was their choice to have many miles of separation. Others were stranded by financial shortfall, broken relationships, or the grip of the grog. As was this case, many decisions are made amid the happy mood of public bars of Darwin’s hotels.

     Being a bachelor, with many mates of similar persuasion, the subject of how to spend Christmas Day in 1988 broached the conversation. It was still two weeks away, but seemed to need addressing. We were a rather spontaneous bunch, who grasped ideas of merit at the drop of a hat.

     Even the topless barmaids entered into the debate on how to spend the approaching festivity. Lexie, the licensee, (also lived separated from family), overheard this banter and was quick to suggest having a gathering at the hotel. That was all the mood needed. “Fantastic” was the overwhelming response.

     Many hands would be needed to cater for an anticipated crowd of one hundred. Lexie assured us there would be no problem in being granted a special licence to open for a private function. No alcohol to be sold on the day, but we could all pay an entry fee to cover that cost. We were all swept up in the euphoria of what was now to be “The Orphans Christmas Party’.

     Boof was to bake a large honey ham; Lexie volunteered to cook numerous chickens and a turkey. Rosco, Buddy, Riddles and myself would look after preparing salads. The happy atmosphere snowballed and a local band volunteered to play. It was obvious the main lounge of the pub would be required to cater for the attendance. Small gifts were proposed for all and sundry. No-one was denied.

     Transport was arranged for those who needed it. The word spread like wildfire, and expected numbers swelled. This was to be one helluva party. We were even to be honoured by the local Member of Parliament. Terry would change his plans to join us ,a wide cross section of the community. Office workers, barmaids, those in construction, the unemployed, and the down and out, about to share the same celebration under one roof.

     On Christmas morning, Boof, the pub yardie, was in the expansive kitchen bright and early, beer in hand readying his large ham for the oven. Willing workers soon joined in washing and preparing vegetables for the salads. Catering for one hundred guests was something most of us had not been involved in before. The kitchen was hot, as is the climate in the tropics during the Wet Season. Spirits we high, and the esky full of cooling ale, to quench any thirst of volunteers that helped. Hangovers were catered for, but no sympathy extended. Either pitch in or step aside and have a kip!

     There was a steady stream arriving to assist. The lounge area was a buzz with furniture arrangement and table setting. Donations of additional food were forthcoming, along with party treats and bonbons.

Boof's basting of the ham with honey had the kitchen smelling a treat as we wound down preparations mid morning. Workers drifted off for a well-earned break and shower prior to returning at midday for the event.

     The carpark started filling on cue. Those that could not afford the price of entry were covered. The mood was one of total cheer and fellowship. Over a hundred revellers, greeting strangers with warm embrace, rekindling friendships, some forgiving squabbles of the past. The few young children became a focus for the majority far from siblings. They never knew they had so many uncles and aunts! We shared their joy and gifts from Santa as if they were now family. This was one extended family of hotel patrons with not a harsh word among them. Shrieks of laughter rebounded off the walls and ceiling.

     Doc and his band rocked on and we danced and sang ‘til it was time to enjoy the meal. Revellers put down their drinks to lend a hand. Bearing platters of food, a line snaked from the kitchen under Lexie’s direction. In quick time the tables were spread. Appetites were sated and thirsts quenched. Choruses of delight echoed throughout.

     All the fare of a traditional Christmas came together over a few beers in the bar two weeks earlier. It was a time, (so many related later), as being the Best Christmas Ever. The biggest party on the day the pub was shut! The Orphans Christmas Party became an annual event until the hotel was sold off and closed some four years later.