Six days and nights meandering along the country roads of Victoria's goldfields, camping near a river or in a State Park or near a quaint country town. Yabbying in the dam. Baking damper on the fire. Drinking champagne with us (of course!!). Harnessing the huge Clydesdale draft horses - Penny and Murdoch, and learning how to drive the wagon.
By the time they arrived at our home on Thursday they were so laid back they were almost horizontal.
Sounds like the perfect holiday, don't you think?
The Pedlar's Caravan
I wish I lived in a caravan,
With a horse to drive, like the pedlar man!
Where he comes from nobody knows,
Or where he goes to, but on he goes!
His caravan has windows, two,
And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes through;
He has a wife, with a baby brown,
And they go riding from town to town!
"Chairs to mend and delf to sell!"
He clashes the basins like a bell;
Tea-trays, baskets, ranged in order,
Plates with the alphabet round the border!
The roads are brown and the sea is green,
But his house is just like a bathing machine;
The world is round and he can ride,
Rumble and splash to the other side!
With the pedlar-man I should like to roam,
And write a book when I came home;
All the people would read my book,
Just like the Travels of Captain Cook!
William Brighty Rands