Thread: Poem about a Land Rover

My next-door neighbour is the daughter of a fascinating artist by the name of Normal Westermann, who once drew some illustrations for a book of verse by the name of 'Uni-Verse', penned by a chap known as 'Rhubard'.

I was chatting to her one day recently and she mentioned that her Dad had shown her a poem all about Rhubard's Land Rover.....so I thought I'd share. I'm writing from the book so please excuse any typos.


Farewell to the 'Landy', it's going today,
Someone from the city will drive it away.
It's going to Blacktown midst concrete and chrome,
The bloke has assured me it has a good home.

I love all the crannies and the small hidden nooks
Where you keep a spare bulb, a lighter or hooks,
With so many places to store things away
It's a far sadder man I will be from today.

I decided to clean the old girl right out,
There's plenty of storage, of that there's no doubt.
With all of the boxes in under the seats,
I'm sure to find treasures and other fine treats.

There was nine hundred yards of strong nylon rope
in various lengths, each occasion to cope,
Twelve kilos of chain neatly held in a bag,
A large army winch with a fifty ton drag.

An assortment of billies, a frying pan too,
With cooking utensils and a gas barbecue,
A tripod for holding the billies on fire,
An old tomahawk and a roll of barned wire.

A small circus tent, ten metres by six,
With a washing machine and a hundred old bricks,
Tent poles were missing but the pegs were all there
Along with a table, a lounge and a chair.

There was pickaxe and shovel, a crowbar and file,
A pair of large scissors and string by the mile,
Some linen all packed in plastic and towel,
A large bag of mortar with a bucket and trowel.

Three dozen matches, most broken and wet,
A small stuffed goanna that I bought from a vet,
When I put it outside it startled the cat;
I'd wondered for years what had happened to that.

Then all of my spanners in a toolbox like new,
An heaps of spare parts for the red 2.2.
A spare head and pistons, a crankshaft and block
With sets of new gaskets to add to the stock.

There's a compass and sextant in leather embossed
And all sort of maps so I'll never get lost.
There's divider and ruler with pencil and quill,
For the best four-wheel drivers it's run of the mill.

There's a packet of Winfields, my trusty od pipe
With plenty of cleaners, the old coloured type,
Plus a mountain of papers all opened and used,
Next to my sunnies now battered and bruised.

It's all in a pile on the edge of the lawn,
I'm feeling well pleased 'cause I started at dawn,
For it's one of those jobs that I really detest;
Now the glovebox is empty - I'll start on the rest.

Rhubard, 2001

Sounds a bit like my cubby box