There’s an annual do in Katoomba
Six stages and countless musicians
Where the groovers and movers and folk of the mountains
fulfil some delightful positions,
They stand at the gates and inspect all the bands
both on stages as well as on wrists
or tidy the litter and wrangle the chairs
in midnight Katoomba-esque mists,

Some manage venues or stages or lighting
or curtains or rigging or sound
or signage or garbage or sewage or backstage
or painting white lines on the ground,
Some manage carparks and castles and crisis
enable removal of muck
Manoeuvre through markets, fixate about fencing
push barrows and limits and luck

Some offer first aid to help ensure safety
or sit in a box and sell tickets
Some guard our office and maintain our roster
and locate a good place to stick it
Some come as couples and some come to score
others pull beers and some unlock doors
Welcome newcomers to music galore
Welcome old timers back greedy for more

There’s truth to the rumour that some get the blues
and howl ’What are the folk people doing?”
but as to the roots of the angst of a few
last seen seething or sulking or stewing
So many ‘reliable, friendly and punctual’
smiling and having a hoot
Why waste words bitching re few who got twitching
and shooted themselves in the boot?

To a few high achievers, those over performers
who go far beyond call of duties
You know who you are, you’re my festival stars
and amongst you there’s really some beauties.
The festival’s over for this year at least
t’was wonderfully volunteer crewed
This ode is to honour the good volunteers
who have Folked and Rooted and Blued!

© Sandy Holmes 2006