It wasn’t a dark and stormy night, but the ghosts of Yarralumla Woolshed would have danced a spooky jig in a thoroughly scary, gloomily lit concert of eerie music from The Griffyn Ensemble.

As the night’s chilly draft wafted around us, enveloping us like a sweeping sceptre, our imaginations were as nightmares as we heard the story of “The Shearer That Could Have Been” by Katie Taylor, told expertly by Kate Hosking.

It told of strange music coming from the woolshed; loud at a distance but diminishing on approach, much as the illusory rainbow that never can be approached.  There was the mysterious and forbidden but irresistible playground in the dirt and among the pylons under the woolshed.  Were there really snakes?  Or was it something more sinister?  We heard of the graves of parents; but were they really there?  Then a bush dance – a given for a woolshed, but with a macabre twist.  Finally, in the dead of night, after everyone’s gone home, the music of the woolshed lures its unsuspecting victim inexorably into a state of hazy suspension, going neither forward nor back, but seemingly afloat with the sceptres on that cold, heartless draft.

The Griffyn’s music entwined the story, twisting around and through it like the ghosts themselves.

There were recorded electronic sounds; not music but an eerie soundscape of undefined scary concepts, setting the mood for what was to come.

We were lulled into a false sense of security as soprano Susan Ellis began to sing the familiar tune, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”.  But it turned out to be a warning to make the most of it this year for next year it won’t be so merry. And what about that macabre bush dance, called by Chris Stone?  In it was the rollicking fun of stabbing, choking and guillotining in ghoulish time to a merry jig.

During the interval, I wandered around the sheep pens and shearing stands, the smell of the sheep and the lanolin of the wool still heavy in the brisk air and the ghosts of shearers past watching from the rafters, no doubt with shears sharpened and at the ready.

Then came spooky sounds from that forbidden playground under the woolshed. Perhaps it was the ghosts of disobedient children? Or something else? Perhaps the parents, not really dead?

Much of the music in the second half, accompanying the mystic end of the story, was given over to violinist Chris Stone and harpist Laura Tanata, followed by bassist Holly Downes and flautist Kiri Sollis. It was like watching a suspense thriller movie, the music heightening the sense of unwanted anticipation as the story unfolded.  The audience was hushed, open-mouthed to the point of collective breath-holding.

The Ensemble returned to the stage for the penultimate piece “Dream Brother” by Jeff Buckley, ultimately leaving Susan Ellis alone on stage, humming “Stille Nacht” (“Silent Night’) in a style evoking mystery and suspense rather than peace and calm and raising more questions than giving answers.

After the enthusiastic applause for this extraordinary performance, the Ensemble’s director, the inimitable Michael Sollis invited the audience to join them for… lamingtons.