Drought

[thestoryteller]

The journey to Warren meant traversing hills one after another ... ups and downs continually. It was the first time I saw for myself what old Reg must have meant when he spoke about:
"Those darn devastating droughts."
Obviously no rain had fallen here for some time as the ground was looking devoid of grass, while what was left was tufted and brown, coated with dust from soil turned to powder. The sheep that I saw were lean and surviving on pulled scrub, which covered acre after acre. Even the kangaroos were doing it tough, scarcely having the energy to hop about. I saw what they called out here my first native dog or Dingo, standing a couple of hundred yards off from the rail track, though only for a moment, as he quickly disappeared into some scrub.


DROUGHT

The desperation drought can bring was cast before my eyes;
a squatter's run with starving sheep, their weak and feeble cries.
The days of cutting mulga scrub and pulling sheep from bogs;
of feral pigs and old black crows, along with native dogs.

The fine red dust which dries one's throat and sticks to face and limb;
hot summer days with cloudless skies when hope of rains grow dim.
The squatter who will not give in, whose pluck is never lost,
whose steadfast wife will stand by him no matter what the cost.

The days they then run into months, the months then into years;
at times you'll bet his nerve will crack, reduce him down to tears.
The sight of death is everywhere in bleached and scattered bones;
no vegetation on the ground, just paddocks full of stones.

The 'roos that usually hop about begin to move real slow,
but still they hang around the place, there's nowhere else to go.
The wedge tail eagle soars the skies; there's much on which to dine;
goannas they just crawl about for they all do just fine.

The water holes all turn to mud; the creek too turns to sand.
Poor squatter knows if rains don't come he'll surely lose his land.
The mortgage at the banks still there; the overdraft cut out.
He then begins to lay men off, there's not a soul about.

The wife and kids then take their place and do the work instead.
From dawn to dark they battle on and live on jam and bread.
The final blow then comes by mail; the Squatter’s worst of fears.
So sorry Sir we have foreclosed you’re too far in arrears.

From the book In Days Gone By.

© Merv Webster
http://users.tpg.com.au/thegrey/InDaysGoneBy.htm

[Brendan_Pierotti]

I think that powerfully expresses pretty much how a lot of farmers have felt over the past few years. Fortunately, we live on the coast and the drought doesn't affect us much. However, lots of kids who board at our school come from places like those you've described. The last year or so some of them have been really creating awareness, which is good for all of us to learn about.

Thanks Merv

[thestoryteller]

The drought mentioned above happened in the 1930's Brendan and my old friend Charlie observed it first hand. He is the main character in the book In Days Gone by.

Sadly it becomes a common part of our history and something we have to learn to live with and try and keep one step ahead.

Good to see so many wanting to help those struggling.

Merv.

[Catherine Lee]

I agree with Brendan - this is indeed a powerful poem. You see it all so clearly, taste the red dust, weep for the animals, and feel the desperation. A great write, Merv.

[thestoryteller]

Some of the worst days sadly are those where continuous blue skies dictate your future and can take you into a dark place.

Thank goodness we have various organizations these days that offer assistance.

Appreciate you sharing the verses. Charlie certainly had an interesting life and it was a pleasure to know him.

Have a great day Catherine.


Merv.