My Pa wk2
My little cousin Darcy, my brother Garth, my Aunt Paula, Grandma and Pa, myself and Rohin at our Wedding in 2005.
Nice random picture, I like it because there is a general sense of happiness.
Discounting my 'I dont think I can keep up with all this pose and put on a smile, face' this is a great photo the four of us. Not that I wasnt extremly happy i'm just not a 'can hold a smile for more then the natural requirement of a few seconds' kind of person. Rohin and I are both really glad that Pa was able to be at our wedding and that he was well for it. My Pa actually hosted Rohin's bucks night for him with all the boys in our family who travelled to be at the wedding a couple of days earlier. Pa had brewed alot of beer for the occassion which apparently took quite a while to develop a taste for!
In November last year my family lost my Grandfather. He was terminally ill with Cancer of the Oesophageus, which was aided by 60years of smoking, over five months he literally starved to death.
My Pa Jack spent most of his life in the bush. In outback towns across the country he laboured, sheared, worked with stock and on farms. He was a concreter and fisherman. Pa didn’t have a lot of education, leaving school at about thirteen or fourteen when he was old enough to go out and earn money for himself. Despite this my Pa became a man wise in the ways of the world and wise to ways of the bush.
His knowledge and stories of all things related to the old style of the Australian bush was legendary, and to the very end his great wit and quick reply served him a positive and humorous outlook on life. Pa could be gruff and stubborn, and particularly serious about cricket and the St George Rugby League team. But he was also generous with his time and his smiles. There are so many aspects to Pa that touched and taught many people, only some of which I have known. Several years ago Pa published a book of his bush poetry. His poetry gave us a great insight into the experiences and memories the Pa held dear to him. This is one of his poems, it’s my favourite in the book and I read it at his funeral service.
FAR AWAY DAYS
The old man sat there in the stock yard
All alone in deep reverie
Of big camps and musters he’d been in
But that was afar yesterday.
His memory goes back through the ages
When he was a lad and bright eyed
He dreamed of the big mobs he’d followed
And a dozen good mates who ha died.
His thoughts go back to old Blueprint
A champion horse in the scrub
Of many long hours in the saddle
And the big cheques he’d busted in pubs
The old drover’s gone from the stock routes
And road trains are now all the go
So the old man just sits there and dreams
Of the droving trips so long ago
For a dream is all that is left now
The years have slipped quickly away
There’s no more wild colts to quieten
And the big trucks roar by every day
Old father time don’t give change mate
He’ll dog you right up to the end
So shape up and give of your best lad
And look on your foe as a friend
Yes the old man sits there… and ponders…
The eighty odd years that have gone
He looks down the road to the old home
As the light fades away then…is gone