Hay War Memorial Hall

Many years ago…
Flatboard trucks and utes are arriving in clouds of red dust struck through by the setting sun. They pull alongside the War Memorial Hall on the opposite side of the wide roadway, families clambering down, children hoisted from the platforms, a milling crowd of well-dressed farming people greeting and chatting. They make an unlikely traffic jam, standing around before slowly drifting towards the brightly lit doorway. They come from all directions, converging on the hall, men in wide-brimmed hats and unaccustomed pressed shirts, mothers in dresses and modest heels ushering children, greeting and hugging neighbours.
A poster announces, ‘Slim Dusty and the All Stars featuring Anne Kirkpatrick.’
The man himself is in fine form, dominating the stage, standing out from his band, big hat with trademark guitar and leather waistcoat. He is in the middle of singing that while he likes to have a beer with Duncan his mate at the Town & Country, they never ever, ever, get rolling drunk. The crowd sings along with enthusiasm, everyone knows all the words. Slim Dusty is in his element, another show in another community hall in a lifetime of travelling and entertaining, surrounded and supported by wife and family, buoyed by the cheerful affection of the audience that sways in the dark on the wooden benches.
They are so pleased to have him here; every smile and twinkle validates them, their town and place. It links them to a greater Australia, a familiar and accustomed country they know exists, even as they battle to recover it from the carnage of the nightly news. It doesn’t matter who else is coming through town to perform in the next few weeks. Slim Dusty is different, larger than life, the epitome of life in the bush, a living reassurance that a way of life, their way of life, matters to the identity and spirit of the whole country.
He claps along at the back of the hall, singing the familiar lyrics, applauding the introduction of Slim’s daughter, Anne Kirkpatrick, joining in the appreciation and devotion. This is as close to transcendence as these pragmatic country people allow themselves, the songs are sentimental, funny, benedictions, tightening the bonds of community. The cheery balladeer lifts them out of their lives, the men standing around the walls no less than the wives and children dancing and jigging among the seats.

Good