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Experiences

QUEEN of the PUMPKINS

At the top of Policeman's Hall people of all ages, shapes and sizes had gathered all with one thing in common. Pumpkins. Each person held under their arm a pumpkin that had been selected not on appearance or for potential taste but for its aerodynamics and durability. These pumpkins weren't heading for the oven; they were heading for the bottom of the hill.

Jenny at Goomeri For the small South Eastern Queensland town of Goomeri the Pumpkin Festival, held on the last Sunday in May, could be described as the highlight of the year and the Great Australian Pumpkin Roll is the highlight of this highlight of the year.

The stakes are high. For the kids a prize of $50 awaits the winner and for the adult competitors the more mature sum of $200 is awarded to the owner of the pumpkin that comes to a halt closest to the chalk circle at the bottom of the hill.

With well over 50 people competing in the adult competition I didn't really rate my chances. My pumpkin has not been chosen with a great deal of experience and was knobbly and top heavy. A 2 metre practice roll had already ended in disaster and a "that one doesn't look too good" comment from a passerby.

Soon the call went up and we were herded into rows of eight. By this time a sizeable crowd had gathered behind the barriers erected at the side of the road to protect spectators from the real threat of being hit by a pumpkin missile. A number of marshalls, who were easily identifiable in their bright orange jumpsuits (even if the colour was a coincidence it was a nice touch), lined the road to add that extra safety to the proceedings.

The kids went first and with a quick reminder of the rules (only underarm throwing and no crossing of the start line) they were under starter's orders. The blast of the whistle sent eight pumpkins hurtling down the hill accompanied by a commentary that any horse race would have been proud of. Pumpkins were flying, pumpkins were bouncing, pumpkins were shattering, pumpkins were flipping, pumpkins were ricocheting off each other. Then it was my turn. I was focused. In my mind the pumpkin to my left was a worthless ball of mush and its mother had been a common, mouldy potato, while the pumpkin to my right was sweating with fear and its father had been a stale sprout. I was riding high on adrenalin for I was the owner of the PumpKING!

Up I stepped, my pumpkin arm ready and in position. The whistle blasted and then I bowled my pumpkin like I'd never bowled it before. This wasn't such a good thing. My pumpkin seemed to drop like a dead weight and managed to imbed itself on a stone. This succeeded in removing any potential for speed it may have had. It was only thanks to a butternut pumpkin that I managed to rejoin the race. It clattered sideways into my pumpkin sending it careering down the hill in an uncontrolled, flailing mass. Somehow, and god alone knows how, it reached the bottom of the hill. Unfortunately, so did most of the pumpkins and many were much nearer to the chalk circle than I was.

I walked down the hill cursing my technique while trying to figure out on what grounds I could demand a rematch and wondering how a drugs test could be carried out on a pumpkin.

At the bottom of the hill, amidst a blanket of injured pumpkins, I found my vegetable. It was badly scarred and studded with gravel but, miraculously, still alive. I picked it up, placed it under my arm and walked off dreaming of finally putting my pumpkin where it rightly belonged, into the oven.

$200 cash winner! www.thewordaustralia.com.au

Jenny Howells