Kids’ school Christmas celebrations impacted by bushfires threatening outskirts of Sydney
As primary school Christmas concerts go, 2019 carols night was unlike any before it on Sydney’s lower north shore.
Opinion
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As primary school Christmas concerts go, 2019 carols night was unlike any before it on Sydney’s lower north shore.
For starters, the outdoor stage had been moved to the northern boundary of the playground so the 2000 or so parents, grandparents, siblings and friends crowded into the grassed area adjacent to one of the city's most congested traffic routes were not looking directly into a setting western sun — a relief for those predisposed to headaches and migraines.
With the sun resembling the napalm-tainted giant from Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now movie poster, though in an even brighter shade of burnt sienna thanks to the smoke haze from bushfires ravaging the state, we were grateful, from our blankets, fold-up chairs and tarps, not to have it in our direct line of sight as Friday night’s show got under way.
Who wants to be reminded of the fragility of the planet and the devastation that potentially awaits the human race while celebrating the birth of a holy infant battling for relevance in a world in which money and power are the only true north and south?
Then again it doesn’t seem to bother our politicians so why should it bother us?
Pass the cheese? Sure thing. Brie or blue?
Of course my daughter’s school community is among the lucky ones. We aren’t battling to save our homes and properties as many presently are on Sydney’s outskirts.
Our school hasn’t been closed and our carols night cancelled due to the imminent threat of bushfire and the megafire, the result of five convergent bushfires, now pressing in from the north.
Our principal gave us a choice on Friday night. We could either stay home out of the smothering smoke haze that settled on Sydney a week ago or take our children to the concert they had spent weeks producing.
Equipped with water, Ventolin, tissues, chairs and enough coin for a sausage sandwich, we of course went.
With the occasional sweep of a hand, we brushed the white ash that rained down along with gum leaf debris from God knows where — south it seemed, though the smoke haze above us seemed to be headed west — from our laps as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
As a friend’s seven-week-old baby was deposited in my arms — “Sweet thing, what are you doing out?” I thought — I cheered and clapped and hollered as 500 children bounced around on a makeshift stage passing microphones to one another with expert efficiency as they heartily retold the story of the nativity in costumes they'd crafted themselves from cardboard and paper. Very reminiscent of ancient Judea.
As a battalion of gold-cardboard-crowned stomping Romans “marched marched marched” robustly about, a demure satiny Mary cradled a plastic Baby Jesus while Joseph impatiently and hilariously prompted the ensemble cast with their lines — “amateurs” you could hear him thinking to himself — and 60 or so dancing kindergarten bears leapt about doing whatever it was bears might have been doing in old Nazareth at the time. Selling sociopolitical revolution perhaps.
A gangster-styled Herod, in reflective aviator sunglasses and chains, surrounded by wives looked to have been inspired directly by Kyle Sandilands, while the Three Kings and singing angel narrator can look forward to big futures on Broadway.
The play was perfect. Worthy of a Richard Curtis screenplay, sans lobster.
Almost flawless, in fact, except for the occasional catch in throats rendered dry by nerves and poor air quality.
The principal closed the show with an apology.
Santa, who drops in every year to hand out the raffle ticket prizes, legs of ham for the most part, was without his firetruck this year. There would be no firetruck display in the car park as there has been previously. The truck was desperately needed elsewhere.
Santa was on foot. A small sacrifice he was happy to pay to keep our larger community safe.
By 8.05pm the playground — only a dozen or so minutes from Sydney’s city centre — was all but empty.
There was no lingering to chat with friends and class mates this carols night. We were all headed home — as quickly as we could get there — to take sanctuary from the strange apocalyptic conditions, the likes of which — with greater government far sight, planning and resources — might have been avoided.
annette.sharp@news.com.au
Twitter: @InSharpRelief