Carn

The Druid Carns are generally fenced round the bottom, by a circle of stones: these Carns had always on their summits, a large flat stone, on which the Druid fires were lighted […]

Slipper hooted. But in a moment another wedging peak was upon us. "Carn, kid. No guts, no glory." "I don't think so," I said. "It's the only way home now."

Cries of "Carn the Bunnies" rang out, and the talk was of past glories, present disappointments and future hopes.

Surely there is someone in ABC Television management who has read Bruce Dawe's evocative poem Life Cycle: "When children are born in Victoria/they are wrapped in the club-colours, laid in beribboned cots/having already begun a lifetime's barracking/Carn, they cry, carn … feebly at first."