Having come from a rural background..east coast of tassie, and later on, the wheatbelt wa, where farming was the go, you/I at any rate, had gotten used to..lots of sheepie baas, and occasional moocoos. Possums..on the family farm, east coast of tassie had their moments. The occasional ringtail was a delight..I can still see one picking his/her way along the top of a barb wire fence, feet going delicately between the barbs until an overhanging branch was reached, when we could escape from..ute with a spottie on top, and gun barrels waving around ..with menace. The brushies had reducing the ringies to small pockets, not many of them around.

It was brushies on top of the main house down by the river, two or three stories, that had managed to make their way threough numerous layers of concrete, pushed into a gap in the ceiling of an upstairs room to try and stop them getting in, making stains on the wallpaper, that sort of thing. They came with a smell, whats more, once they had ensconced themselves into a nice warm hideyhole in the roof. Trouble with those possums was..apart from their ceiling intrusions, was..the little blighters liked rose shoots. Roses were a joy and a delight when in flower..but you dont get many if the possums develop a taste for the ..aforementioned rose shoots. sigh. In later years, I put a floppy fence around the rose garden, on account I had read that they dont like fences that move around. Mum didnt seem to get many more roses after that though..anyway.

Rose shoots didnt happen all the time though, so you’d have thought that they were quite safe, in the off roseshootseason, sitting on top of the roof, running up and down playing around, and having a great time.

On one memorable occasion, not so. To get to the top of the roof, Dad had installed a short ladder, which went from a curved roof section, up to a wire, which ran up the next roof section, and landed you on top of the main roof, next to a double chimney. On the other side, there was various bits and pieces, roof gutterings held up with straps, Oyster Bay pines as a scaffolding. Trouble was, all these bits were necessary to..paint the roof, get a hose up to the chimneys to put out the roof fire if we got too enthusiastic about having a roaring blaze in one of the numerous fireplaces, banging in the occasional roofing nail, and that sort of thing. The brushies had utilised these..addons to gain quicker access to the roof. Unfortunately.

One night, there was a sliding noise, then a silence, then a small thump, then another sliding noise,then a larger thump. Then lots of rustles, that seemed to go up the outside wall, then the whole process would repeat. Curious.

There was a bit of a discussion, followed by doors opening and closing, then a loud bang. There was a last slide, another thump, then all went quiet. Dad came back inside, stowed his shottie away, and all was well in the Shaw household for the rest of the night.
Not something to get overly excited about, a few slides and thumps you’d have thought. Not so!

One possum had lost its footing on the roof, slid down the top section. Came off the edge, fell the 8 or so feet to the curved roof, where it landed with a thump..that was the small thump. More sliding noise, as it slid down the curved roof, and it finally fell off that into freh air, another dozen feet or so into the garden underneathe, where it landed on the ground..the big thump.

The scurry and scamper was it going back up the roof, up Dads ladder to the top,..where it happened agin. Must have been fun eh. Trouble was, where it landed on the curved roof was fair over the top of the window to Mum and Dads bedroom. Annoying. If it only happened once, no big deal. But all night? Nope. I can just hear Mum..Charlie,I’ve had it up to here with that racket. For goodness sakes, Do something about it!

Dad was periodically out at night improving his target practice. No wonder the roof needed painting here and there, with shotgun pellets bouncing off the roof hey.