Welcome to Mawson, the home of the awesome,
We are nineteen, strong and true.
Each like an explorer, we set forth on the Aurora,
A willing and able crew.
The tip of the spear, is a man without fear,
He has lived a dozen lives or more.
But after he stops, by the chocolate bar box
It is suddenly now lighter by four.
You may get a sign, that the second in line,
Has a demeanour so mild and kind.
But if he comes near, you ought to keep clear,
This fellow’s the biggest pest you will find.
With another he toils, both covered in oil,
Until the sun has started to wane,
This one is called Guy, they say he can fly
But only from a perfectly good plane.
In the same shed, works a bloke with a head,
That has grown a beard so grouse.
He went for a splash, jumped out in a flash
Whooping like an owl with a mouse.
Going upstairs, with nearly as few hairs,
Is one of the plumbers on station,
But if you have a chair, for which you so care,
Be sure he’s away on vacation.
In the same vein, of the professional game,
Is a fellow that life can’t hinder.
Even when a mess, he still has success,
In that strange dating world of Tinder.
Sharing his skills, but perhaps just for thrills,
Is a bloke who has featured in fables,
Not settled on pipes, with their thousands of types,
He’s also an expert with cables.
Another electrician, out on a mission,
Is an intelligent man called Brilly.
He’s handsome and tall, often climbing a wall,
But to expect a short answer is silly.
The last of this breed, is a knight with no steed,
Before him electricity will yield.
But the star of the show, is the ever-growing ‘fro
With its own gravitational field.
In control at the wheel, of 20 tonnes of steel,
Is a bear of a man from the east,
When he’s at the show, and your drink is getting low,
You’ll have to file a Cease and Desist.
Across to the Rosella, and there resides a fella,
Who runs the projects on station.
At the mid-winter splash, he entered with panache,
And twice received a standing ovation.
Another like he, moulds the flesh of a tree,
Is a fellow who served in the army.
Men weren’t a bore, he’s with seventeen more,
His decision is borderline barmy.
A distance away, the Met Tech’s at play,
Once a month he will monitor and check,
He’s a gentle fellow, but not quite as mellow,
With a Stratocaster around his neck.
Working alongside, through the station she glides,
Is our diligent weather observer.
That’s not all we owe, there’s more strings to her bow,
Hydroponics is growing with fervour!
At the other end, with a moustache on trend,
Our Comms Tech monitors the chatter.
Say ‘Over and Out’, and you’d better have clout,
Your hospital cover simply won’t matter.
But in the event of any pain, we will all stay sane,
For our doctor can do no wrong.
There are none in safer hands, in any of these lands,
Except for him, with boxing gloves on.
Now go straight down the hall, but stay on the ball,
In the kitchen the Chef’s above kings.
Although his smile is wry, some would say sly,
He still cooks better than he sings.
Rounding out the list, is one who can’t be missed;
He knows the dangers better than us all.
It’s laughs by the tonne, until he makes a pun,
Then he has yet another ‘mystery’ fall.
So here’s to Mawson, the home of the awesome,
Of season 2020.
We’re halfway run, but this story isn’t done,
I’m sure we’ve still got plenty.
Hamish Stirling, Carpenter