Bush Christmas was by no means a major film, indifferently photographed, amateurish sound recording, ordinary to bad acting, banal storyline. But it was the only global recognition an Aussie kid had to cling to in those days (it was made in 1947 but I'm referring to the early 1950s) and so we were stuck with loving it; when we weren’t downright embarrassed by it. There were these three Aussie kids, their token aboriginal friend and even more token Pommie visiting cousin (the film was made for a British audience, trying to kid them into believing this was the way we lived Downunder). The sort of kids that rode their horses to and from school, like no one I ever heard of did, and lived on an idyllic property, somewhere in the middle of New South Wales.