The TV went whoop whoop whoop, and Ben (6) and Hillary (10) watched Mum and Dad stop chewing their dinner, mouths still full of food. The parents strained towards the television. Jenny Woodward appeared on the screen and said: “This is a top priority cyclone warning. Cyclone Noel is presently located 300 kilometres north east of Townsville, and moving in a south-westerly direction at 15 kilometres an hour.”
“Oh SWEARWORD!” said Dad.
“Don’t say SWEARWORD! in front of the children,” said Mum.
“But its coming towards…”
“Shhhhhh,” said Mum.
“Cyclone Noel is now a category three system. Wind gusts of up to 140 km an hour have been detected at the centre. Communities between Flying Fish Point and Bowen must make emergency preparations.” Jenny Woodward looked very serious indeed.
“Oh SWEARWORD!” said Mum.
Ben and Hilary looked at each other, worried – they knew it was a bad sign when their parents went all sweary.
Lots of rain had already fallen from bruise coloured clouds. Hilary thought the backyard was almost a billabong. More rain poured over the edge of the roof like a waterfall because the gutters were swamped. All her clothes were slightly damp out of the drawers, and Dad had to shut the window behind the Christmas tree because rain had sprinkled the presents.
“I’d better clean up the yard. It’s getting dark,” said Dad.
“I’ll help,” said Mum. “How long do you reckon it’ll take…to get here?”
“Sometime tomorrow,” said Dad, his face distracted. He was thinking about taping windows, moving the car under the house, filling the bath with water, and checking torch batteries.
“Mmmmm” said Mum with a faraway face. She was thinking about whether to cook the food in the freezer, if they should nail boards across windows, and wondered if the swamp mahogany tree would collapse on the power line.
“We’ll wash the dishes,” said Ben.
“That’s my boy,” said Mum.
They spent the evening in high preparation for the arrival of Cyclone Noel, and a late evening warning on the radio said the cyclone was continuing its southwesterly course straight towards Townsville. The children helped Mum make pies in the oven. Dad got extremely wet moving gardening things under the house. By eleven pm everyone was exhausted.
“Tomorrow’s going to be big,” said Dad, “so let’s go to bed.”
After midnight, the wind started to howl. There was a low humming sound which spooked the kids. They ran into bed with Mum and Dad.
Dad got up to investigate the horrible hum and discovered a big branch of the swamp mahogany tree was rubbing against the phoneline like a big double bass bow, making the house vibrate.
“Hmmmm,” said Dad plonking piano keys. “The phoneline is tuned to E flat”.
“Come back to bed, we need the sleep,” grumbled Mum.
The 4am warning said the cyclone had speeded up and was expected to cross the coast at noon.
“So the storm hasn’t veered out to sea? It’s really heading our way!” said Mum.
The roads and rails were cut by floodwaters. The world outside looked wet and porridgy, and the rain hurtled down at an acute angle in the wind. The road was empty of cars and pedestrians. Everyone in town had battened down, and only brave emergency services people were working. Water seeped into shops and houses, and the first branches snapped from trees.
“So much for the drought,” said Dad.
Then there was a tiny knock on the door. Ben went to the door and opened it and looked down.
A wet wallaby sat on the doormat with brown pleading eyes.
“Where did you come from?” asked Ben. The family crowded round.
“Let the poor little thing in,” said Mum. “She might drown in the cyclone.”
The house was close to the Townsville town common and often wallabies cropped the grass in their back garden. Ben took the wallaby in and dried her with a towel. The little marsupial began to quietly nibble the Christmas tree.
Shortly afterwards there was another knock. Hillary opened the front door. Two goannas sat dripping on the doormat. “Goannas,” she shouted.
“Oh, they’d better come in, too,” sighed Mum. A wind gust made it hard to shut the door. The goannas climbed on top of the kitchen cupboard.
“Isn’t it amazing how animals instinctively know there’s a storm coming, and how they take precautions” said Dad, giving a goanna half a cold sausage.
There was another knock on the door.
Three possums, each with a mango tucked under one arm, stood patiently on the doormat. Their eyes pleaded also.
“Can’t resist big brown eyes like that,” said Dad. The possums were well behaved but made a sticky juicy mess along the back of the couch.
At the fourth door knock, four magpie geese cackled politely. Dad waved them in. One sat in a corner and laid an egg.
The fifth knock produced four tree snakes on the doormat waving their heads, and a taipan pretending to be a tree snake, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.
“That looks like a taipan,” said Mum.
“Nawww,” said Dad. “A taipan wouldn’t be that well behaved.” The tree snakes curled round the Christmas tree, while the taipan nestled in among the presents thinking: I must not bite anyone’s hand … I must not bite anyone’s hand…
The sixth door knock produced six grey kangaroos. They were big and muscley.
“You guys better behave,” said Dad, “It’s Christmas eve, and we’re all kind to one another at this time of year.” They bounced carefully to the living room. He put some Mozart on the stereo because someone once said music soothed the savage beast.
The wind was beginning to howl ominously. There was another knock “Seven maids a milking, I suppose,” said Dad, but it was only seven green tree frogs, who had enjoyed the rain, but got frightened after one was blown off the fence and went splat on a tree. The frogs, including their concussed comrade, sat in the sink and sang a cyclone song.
Hillary looked through gaps in the taped-up window. Branches flipped up and down crazily. She saw the overhead wires swinging in the wind, and across the road, the rain looked like huge hard lumps of glass which bashed against old Mrs McWhirter’s house.
There was a knock at the door.
Eight extremely wet fruit bats were hanging from the verandah eaves.
“Come in,” said Mum. The bats flapped through the door and hung on the Christmas tree like over-sized decorations. The bats chattered to each other. Ben brought them nectarines.
A sheet of roof iron flicked across the road and went “clang” into the back of the car downstairs.
“SWEARWORD!” said Dad. “I’d better check the…” He opened the door to find 9 perturbed brolgas standing at the door, looking him in the eye.
“Who’s bright idea was it to buy a house next to the town common?” he asked, waving the brolgas in. They strode gracefully through the house. One noticed the taipan but didn’t say anything.
The taipan was sitting among the presents thinking: I must not bite anyone’s hand…I must not bite anyone’s hand…
The wind got even stronger. ABC people on the radio heatedly discussed the cyclone which was only 50km north of the city and closing in. Wind gusts of 180kph were being recorded. Hillary listened and looked into the dark sky, and wondered whether it was night-time again.
There was a huge thump like a huge hand had slapped the wall. The house shook, the bats in the Christmas tree shuffled and rearranged themselves on different branches. The kangaroos stared out of the living room window and stood very still.
“This is it,” said Mum, working out the track of the cyclone on a map. Another gust thumped the wall again.
The lights went out, as powerlines, somewhere, were ripped from the ground. The fridge stopped humming. The Mozart on the stereo ended. Only the radio, on batteries, continued, with its constant updates on flooded roads … blackouts … storm surge … damage.
The wind sounded like a howling animal. Perhaps that’s why the grey kangaroos, the brolgas and the possums stood so still. They could hear the wildest creature of all – the cyclone, stripping the leaves off trees, pouring tonnes of water on the ground. The frogs in the sink had fallen silent.
Then tap tap tap. There was a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it.” said Dad. He walked over and opened the door. The verandah was on the lee of the wind, and peeking out, the kids saw a sky that was whipping and twisting like a dirty sheet on a hills hoist on a windy day. Ten cane toads sat on the door mat.
“Those big brown eyes,” said Dad.
“Aww yuk. You’re not letting them in,” said Mum.
“Someone has to love the cane toad,” said Dad. “Over there,” he ordered. The toads huddled among the shoes and thongs just inside the kitchen door. They had all swallowed a great deal of pride to ask for help.
“Daddy,” said Hilary. “Look. The windows are dribbling.” Fingers of wet had been pushed through the jambs and the cracks by the air pressure, and water was starting to slide down the inside glass. Another bang, and a particularly big gust struck the house. Ben shouted: “look at Mrs McWhirter’s roof!” Mrs McWhirter’s roof started to peel off like a jam roll, and the tin sheeting was flicked away in a gust.
“It’s a good thing she’s on holiday at Noosa,” said Dad. I’ll see if I can open a window in her house to even up the pressure…”
“You are NOT going outside,” ordered Mum. “Wait until the eye of the cyclone comes.”
The eye, the calm hole in the middle of the whirling storm, arrived soon enough. The sad cry of the cyclone stopped. The rain died down. The possums tried to start a food fight but were told off by Hilary.
“Watch it youse guys. The wind’s coming again. You don’t want to be chucked out.” The possums shoved their mango slices into their mouths and stared defiantly at her.
Dad ran across the road, watchful for downed powerlines, and broke into Mrs McWhirter’s house. The sky was pale blue above, but the storm wall of the cyclone was all around. Mum didn’t let the kids go outside but went downstairs to check the car and gardening items were still lashed to the stumps. Dad ran back. Mrs McWhirter’s carpets and furniture were soaked. Dad held her glory box, an old photo album and some personal files in his arms. There was not much else he could save.
“Mrs Mac isn’t going to have a nice Christmas,” said Dad sadly. “we’ll ring when the phone lines are fixed.” He and Mum started to get mattresses ready in the bathroom, in case the roof blew off and they needed to cover themselves.
There was a peck at the door.
Eleven wet ruffled white cockatoos, yellow crests bent like pretzels, stood on the doormat.
“Let us in. We can’t stand the rain anymore,” said the boss cocky. After working day shift at the Billabong Sanctuary, the cocky could talk. Dad stood aside. The cockatoos strutted in, down the hall, past the toads, past the bats and the snakes in the living room and arranged themselves on the beautiful wooden arch in the middle of the lounge. Hillary brought them a bowl of Christmas nuts and they crunched and cracked nutshells happily, spitting the shells everywhere.
The storm started to wind up again, like an enormous engine. It accelerated fast and there were three huge shudders.
“Daddy,” said Ben. “Are we going to die?”
“Course we’re not,” said Dad, hopefully.
Ben wandered over to the Christmas tree, a big green plastic tree covered in bats, red tinsel, cheery baubles and green tree snakes. He tried to distract himself by guessing what was in the presents. Underneath were red presents, and green presents and a beautiful long gold present. He reached his hand under the golden gift. The four tree snakes and eight fruit bats looked extremely worried. The seriously poisonous and somewhat stupid taipan had fallen asleep and was dozing under the gold present.
“SQWAWK SCREECH SQUAWWKK,” shouted the bats, flapping their wings. The tree snakes lifted their heads and swayed. Twisted in tinsel, they looked as if they wore tiny feather boas.
The cockatoos on the arch screeched and ruffled their crests. Kangaroos bounced up and down and thumped chests. Brolgas danced down the hallway. The frogs said “watch-out watch-out watch-out” loudly from the sink.
Ben got a huge fright at the sudden noisy chaos and he fell backwards.
The taipan woke up, thought: I must not bite anyone’s hand, and slithered from under the presents, taking up residency in a half open violin case.
“What was all that about?” asked Mum, as she picked Ben up. He was crying. The bats and snakes were calm and peaceful again, trying hard to imitate Christmas tree decorations.
“Maybe Ben made a sudden movement, scaring the animals,” said Dad. He helped Ben feed the bats pieces of fruit, while the storm raged. The bats, picking their way around orange rinds and sucking noisily, cheered Ben up, and he stopped being frightened. The wallaby hopped over and leant against Ben’s leg.
Through the gaps in a taped-up window, Hilary, Mum and Dad watched Mrs McWhirter’s house disintegrate across the road. First the roof, then the sides, like the wind had scooped in and punched a hole in the wall. The house slid off its housestumps and collapsed.
Mum and Dad, for the hundredth time, went around the house, examining the roof for leaks, and the joins in the ceiling to check for any cracks.
It should be over soon,” Dad said.
There was a tap at the door. 12 death adders sat on the mat.
“Definitely not,” said Mum over his shoulder.
Dad put a heavy wooden box on the verandah for the snakes, and they curled up inside it.
“Slither off when the cylone’s over, please,” he added.
Not long afterwards the wind started to ease. First the frogs and toads, keen to indulge in aquatic sports, hopped out of the door, followed by the tree snakes, adders, goannas and the taipan. As the rain stopped sounding like marbles bashing the tin roof, the fruitbats and kangaroos hurried out. When the rain had diminished to a hiss in the tree branches, the geese, cockatoos, brolgas, possums and one wet wallaby escaped down the verandah steps.
Ben and Hillary waved them goodbye.
There were cold Christmas pies for dinner, and Dad made hot tea on the camping stove. The weather was still wet and blustery so the family stayed inside, waiting for NORQEB to fix the powerlines, and sang a few rounds of the Twelve Days of Christmas, which included 12 adders adding, 11 cane toads a-warting, 10 cockies cackling, 9 brolgas dancing and five green tree snakes. Oh, and one wet wallaby ….
And to this day Dad and Mum secretly wondered whether the five green tree snakes line should have included a possible mention of a taipan.
