dedicated to weirdelf Ode to Mid-On

Picking sides by the dunny door.

Stumps and bails. ball and bat.

Brothers, sisters, cousins, friends.

Sometimes even the dog and cat

when numbers were too small.

The dunny door first served as stumps

before dad bought us gear.

The fig tree was the bowler’s crease,

the backyard fence the boundary.

And we were out if we ever hit six.

Playing cricket all summer long

round the door of the dunny.

Some rules were straight from the laws of the game

and some of them were funny

- made up for the circumstance.

The outdoor loo it fielded for all.

At mid on usually.

And it was considered a catch if the ball from the bat

hit the door of the dunny.

(It claimed a lot of wickets)

And if you were one of the older kids

And playing the little ones,

sometimes one batted on one’s own

and had twice as far to run

to get back to the batsman’s end.

And depending on how far down the line

of siblings, cousins, friends.

One’s age accounted for a lot

of calls of out or in

in close decisions.

Mum would bring refreshments

and dad would sometimes umpire.

And if we got too hot and sweaty

we’d turn on the garden sprinkler

and play on through the ‘weather’.

Didn’t matter that the crease got wet.

None appealed against the rain.

And no-one noticed fading light.

The only thing that stopped the game

was mum calling us for dinner.

And still every summer you’ll find kids playing

their backyard cricket games.

They also make their own rules

as circumstance maintains

the necessity.

But there’s a player missing from the field.

Something’s changed, it’s not the same.

No longer standing in backyards,

moved inside and changed its name,

an icon has retired.

Vanished now from the pitch

a strong and solid sportsman.

Crossed over to inside toilet now.

Formerly of mid-on.

The dunny.

So ‘though cricket in the backyard

is still a childhood pastime.

I miss the old days.  I miss the old rules

like, when one was out – caught by mid-on -

if the ball hit the door of the dunny.