A cemetery yarn (folklore department)

["Ian Marr" <ianmarr@zzzzzzzzzzz>]

 An old cemetry yarn...
  Many years ago, in the town of Wilcannia on the Darling River, there were
two old mates who lived in a bush camp among the river trees, loved a drink,
and their walk home late in the night took them through the old cemetry,
where the memorials were scattered over a red sandhill.One bitterly cold
winter's night, full of grog, old mate sets out alone for home, leaving his
friend in the pub(which was called the Cricketer's Arms, and still stands on
the Menindie road.)
  In his path lay a newly dug grave, ready for a funeral the next day.He
fell into this, and lay there stupefied as the frost settled.
  When his mate came wandering through,hours later, he heard a voice,
disembodied..
          "I'm   cold... I'm   cold...I'm cold "
  He replied..
           "Of course you're bloody cold...You've gone and kicked all the
dirt off yourself."