For four young farm boys, Christmas was always a hot and dry time, running around the property in shorts and nothing else, picking thistles out of our toes and ignoring the threat of sunburn.

The sun seemed to be merciless, and in the 1960s, there was no air conditioning.

We lay stretched out on the lounge room carpet with damp washers on our foreheads, making plans to go swimming in the nearby irrigation channels in the evening.

I was the reader in the family and, thanks to a Year 5 teacher, I discovered the works of Banjo Patterson and Henry Lawson, who captured the essence of the Australian bush, populated by characters, some of whom I could identify with.

Christmas Day was sandwiched between school years; regrets from the past and nervous anticipation of what came next.

Dad was an inexhaustible working man and Mum (well, these days we would call her the stay-at-home mum) exuded a bright disposition, despite chasing the four boys and working with a limited budget.

Christmas Day took on a renewed meaning when I met my future wife who introduced me to a deeper meaning of the event, and insisted this feckless 20-year-old take things seriously if we were going to make a life together.

My conviction lay not in any rules nor recitations, but in the response of the heart.

My interest was never in Christmas shopping, but in the birth of the one whom we celebrate at this time of the year, and in the knowledge that despite my shortcomings and failures, He welcomes us.

May the true spirit of Christmas shine in your heart and light your path.

And keep in mind what Charles Dickens wrote in A Christmas Carol:

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”

– Geoff Adams, Country News editor.

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Sunday, 8th February 2026

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