‘Bert, the magic dragon lived near Ernie
And frolicked in the autumn sun in Shepparton, you see
Little Bigs Bardot loved that rascal ‘Bert
And brought him strings, and funny things, and even peach yoghurt
Norbert the Yellow Dragon is friendly chap – and the Gaffy family, who constructed the creature as a holiday art project, couldn’t be more disappointed. If they had their way, Norbert would be a soul-devouring, fire-breathing, child-scaring thunder lizard who destroys anyone foolish enough to stand in his way.
“There were talks of installing flame-throwers on it,” David Gaffy told a concerned journalist when the dragon was unveiled in 2017. “But perhaps that’s not the best idea.”
What, David, no chainsaws or death rays or vats of bubbling oil that boil visitors? As the patriarch of a brutally creative family, David wasn’t alone in his fanciful plans for this very unique-looking Big.
“I was actually thinking of it being 50 times bigger than it is,” his eight-year-old son, Hamish gloated. “It’s the dragon from Harry Potter.”
Young Hamish came up with the idea for Norbert whilst visiting his pop’s farm just outside Shepparton, and wasted no time sketching the plans for the golden goliath on a bit of paper. Generations of Gaffys then descended upon the ranch to make the little boy’s dreams come true.
“Hamish really enjoyed the fact it became a whole family project,” David beamed. “Uncle Tim helped with the welding, Grandpa came up with the idea for the tail. The opportunity to get our hands dirty was too good to pass up.”
I would’ve helped, of course, but I was getting my hair permed that day. Maybe next time! And there will be a next time, because Hamish has BIG plans for a space rocket and a phoenix to join Norbert, who lives on the corner of Pyke Rd and Mooroopna-Murchinson Rd.
Next time you’re passing, make sure to give Norbert a hearty, “Yellow, mate!”
How to Restrain Your Dragon
Driving the Bigsmobile between my bachelor pad in Shepp’s leafy north-west and my weekender in Waranga Shores, my heart skipped a beat as I heard the dulcet tones of a damsel in distress. With little concern for my own safety I screeched the van to a halt, popped on my most menacing pair of pineapple-shaped sunglasses, and prepared myself for the worst.
Imagine my surprise when I came face-to-muzzle with the normally-placid Norbert – wild of eye and flaxen of skin – with my best chum Gordon Shumway betwixt his powerful jaws. This was not the gregarious dragon I’d so often shared strawberry soufflé with at the Shepparton Gentlemen’s Club.
“Oh, Norbert,” I gasped, “all this snarling and snatching innocents isn’t really you, is it?”
The fire in Norbert’s eyes dimmed and his shoulders slumped. He placed Gordon down on an especially pulpous thatch of grass, then hung his enormous head in shame.
“My sincerest apologies, Biggsy,” Norbert wept. “I buckled under the irresistible weight of peer pressure and, against my better judgement, became the one thing I’ve always despised. I transformed into a brutish cliché of a dragon. Overflowing with testosterone and toxic masculinity, I lashed out at those I love most.”
“I forgive you, Norbie,” I cooed, then gestured towards Gordon. “But someone else might take a bit more convincing.”
Gordon dusted himself off and shrugged nonchalantly.
“You’re forgiven, dude,” the little alien grinned. “I’m just glad Dave didn’t end up giving you that flame-thrower!”
