The Passing of Stumpy Shore.

[thestoryteller]

THE PASSING OF STUMPY SHORE

The Constable had found the man 'round five on Friday morn,
apparently while on his shift from midnight through till dawn.
Two youths, with blood stains on their clothes, detained drunk in the park
disclosed they'd rolled some homeless bloke, sometime just after dark.
As Sergeant in this country town I'd lived round here for years,
observed some pretty callous things, but this left me in tears.
The aged and fragile frame lay slumped there in a pool of mud
and through his snow white hair and beard was clotted, crimson blood.

The Constable looked up and said, "There fam'ly we can call?
For surely someone knows him Sarge. You know the bloke at all?"
"He's know 'round here as Stumpy lad, been here a year or two.
came out way back in sixty-three to work on Beetaloo,
Then worked his way to overseer and often came to town,
was captain of the football team, a sportsman of renown.
He married pretty Sheila Clark and when his son was four
they called conscripts for Vietnam, which saw him go to war.

A war of conflicts that would scar and traumatise the mind,
confusing, cruel, and futile acts some failed to leave behind.
Inherent post-traumatic stress was that war's legacy,
together with the stump you see attached below his knee.
The old man lying there my lad is testimony too
a life spent fighting guilt and fear his mind could not subdue.
Poor Sheila shared his sleepless nights, the flashbacks and his pain,
but in the end she lost the fight as Stumpy left again.

He camped in squats around the town and drowned his pain with wine,
withdrew into his own quiet world, content now to resign,
from all of life's inequities, the company of folk,
but all the town saw Stumpy Shore, a harmless poor old bloke.
His Sheila raised their only son, who still lives here today,
who cared for her through all those years until she passed away.
She'd told him of the man she'd known before he went to war,
so in his mind he held no grudge against old Stumpy Shore.

In fact one day down by the creek, while Stumpy washed his socks,
he saved a lad from drowning as he'd dived onto some rocks.
The boy he saved that very day was his own grandson Kim;
ironical, I guess eh lad, that Stumpy should save him."
"You know Sarge, when I found the man, I thought him just a bum
and judged the bloke on what I saw, but this has left me numb.
The facts are mighty sob'ring Sarge and now I feel real bad.
You reckon we can find his son?" ... "You're talking to him lad."

© Merv Webster

The experiences of integration back into society by many of Australia's returned soldiers were often only known by close family members, if that. The plight of veteran’s lives after Vietnam, whether the result of today's open-mindedness, has been more of an open book. Their stories are quite sobering, touching the lives of both city and country folk. Lest we forget. This poem won the 2003 Australian Bush Poet’s Written Competition.

From the book Excuse Me! It's the Gidyea!