ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

This is a true story of an old bloke who was dying from the effects of lung cancer. Until the last few months he’d spent all his life in the bush often in very remote areas.
As he sensed he was almost out of time he persuaded his wife and two friends to take him back out bush. At first they tried to talk him out of it feeling he wouldn’t even survive the long journey, but finally gave in and took him back to an old camp site of his.
By coincidence My wife and I passed them as we were returning from a trip and stopped to have a chat.
He was too ill to get out of the ute so I took some of the gold we had found to show him, that was the last time I saw him, he died later that night out in a remote old campsite of his, he was a wonderful old bloke. - Terry

A BUSHMANS FAREWELL

His face is grey and haggard and his eyes are dulled by pain,
determination drives him as he heads out bush again.
His wife and mates are with him to make sure his wish comes true,
to touch again the red earth, out there near the ‘Famous Blue.’

Five hundred miles now lay behind, three hundred still to drive,
to reach the haunting breakaways out where the mulga thrive.
And patiently he watches as the scene goes speeding by,
through miles of old man saltbush and the clearest of blue sky.

An anxious wife is fretting but there’s little she can do,
but try to offer comfort for the pain he’s going through.
For fifty years she loved this man but knows the end is near,
And thinks of how she’s shared him with this land he loves so dear.

And when at last the camp is reached his spirits start to rise,
again he sees the beauty; there’s a sparkle in his eyes.
And for a time the pain is gone; the first time now in days,
and soon the sun will bathe him with its warming golden rays.

He rest’s then by the campfire in the folds of his camp chair,
and feels again the freedom as he breathes the outback air.
A wishful smile then lights his face as memories come back,
of fifty years he’s spent out bush well off the beaten track.

He focuses on awesome views and slowly nods his head,
For in his heart he knows he is, a bushie born and bred.
Then as the sun begins to set his strength starts fading fast,
and those who are there with him, sense this sunset is his last.

Beneath the brooding breakaway where stars were shining bright,
a bushman lost his battle as his spirit now took flight.
While tears are flowing freely for a man they all will miss,
a wife is quietly sobbing as she gives a farewell kiss.

******

31/7/2011 © T.E. Piggott

Beautifully written Terry. Sounds like he got his dying wish, at one with the land.
Cheers
Sue

Terry when i read the heading I thought a quick scan of this will do. But mate you have done it again and captured the essence of the bush and why it is loved so much by those who spend time out there.

Beautiful poem and beautifuly written Mate.

Bob

Ps small typo Well off the beaten track.

Shows how closely I read it.

G'day Terry

What better farewell for a Bushie.
Told nice and succintly, mate.

Cheers, Marty

Agree with the others comments Terry - IMO this is one of your best

Cheers

Maureen

Loverly Terry sob.

Heather

Thanks Everybody, I have added a few lines at the end of this telling a bit more about him.

Hi Sue,
Yes he really wanted to spend his last few hours out in a remote area that he loved.

G/day Bob,
I know what you're saying, sometimes a few simple words says heaps, I'll fix that typo thanks.

Thanks Marty,
When I saw him on the road that last day I sensed he was desperately hanging on to get to where he wanted to go, I'm glad he made, and admire his wife and two friends who made it possible.

Hi Maureen,
Glad you enjoyed it.

Hi Heather.
This was one that wrote itself, I'm pleased you enjoyed, all I really wanted to do was tell the story.



He was a wonderful old character and I had started writing a short story about him and then decided to write a bit of a poem about him as well.

He spent a lot of his life in the Kimberly’s and the Pilbara doing all sorts of things.

In case he was held up by a flooded creek or river he always carried a good supply of tinned tucker and a box full of books (all western) to read, and he had a particular liking for books written by Zane Grey, he must have reread those books dozens of times.

I’d see him out prospecting kicking at the hard ground with a pair of thongs, or Japanese working boots as he liked to call them.

He was a quietly spoken man and a big smoker who liked to roll his own, you’d see him sitting there near his campfire drinking tea and puffing on a smoke. Of an evening he enjoyed a quiet beer (often Coolgardie cold) followed by a couple of nips of sweet sherry, but that was his limit he never over did it.

I felt I was privileged to have known him. - Terry

Terry what you have written would belt the tripe out of most Bush Poetry written very great modern writers the R R M to hell with them that is great

Bill The Old Battler

Thanks Bill & Marty, I will add a little more about the old chap at the end of this.

Bill,
Being an old bushman yourself, this would probable appeal to you more than to most, and I'm pleased that it has Mate.


Marty,
Hope you enjoyed the read mate,



After he got ill my wife and I ran into him to the east of Nullagine at a spot we called Cooks Creek, he was with his wife and the two friends who were with him at the end. They had to return in a couple of weeks for some reason, but the old bloke really wanted to stay out bush.
They planned to work their way down to a place called Paynesville and by the time they were leaving we would be a few hundred klms away at Barwidgee.
Anyway Val & I said we would come over and join him before they left so he wouldn’t be left by himself, not that it would have worried the old bloke. In a strange twist to the story it was while we were with him he received a message on his UHF radio that my father had died (his wife had heard the message on the wireless asking if anyone knew where I could be contacted) Less than 12 months later we were attending the old blokes funeral.

Terry

I typed a reply to this earlier but managed to lose it somehow, but I remember it started with - aah Terry you do it so well - and you do, beautifully written as always. It's lovely that they were able to do this for the old bloke, beats the nursing home hands down.