True story - The mystery of Granny's Grave
Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2012 9:16 am
A true story and mystery that lies of the shore of Lady Bay in Victoria - anyone know anything more about it?????
This is the story of
Granny's Grave
I went to visit Granny’s grave down there at Warrnambool.
The day was cold and damp – the wind was bleak.
The ocean pounded into shore and flung its spume up high
so noisy that one could not bear to speak.
Her grave sat sad and desolate, no other graves were near
I thought how lonely this woman would be
entombed and isolated here amongst the shifting sands.
I wondered who might know her history.
Everyone called her Granny – but she was Granny to none
who were living, for she died long ago.
Her tombstone says that here lies a Mrs James Raddleston.
Her own name not displayed for none here know.
She’s acknowledged for being the first white woman to die
in Warrnambool in eighteen forty eight.
The settlement had not been established even a year
How did she die? Of What? What of her mate?
She rests o’erlooking Lady Bay and most days some folk pass.
Young surfers, joggers, folk walking a hound.
The Edinburgh Castles rotting hull lies on the sands nearby,
a wreck full of cement the sea had drowned.
Her husband fished for Cray in the wild waters of the bay
and home was just a humble canvas tent.
But none it seems have details of this lady on the shore.
Not who she was, or how her time was spent.
Perhaps she dreams of seeing Southern Right whales passing by,
and hears their singing from out in the deep.
Perhaps she walks the shores at night with other shipwrecked souls
whose bodies Lady Bay opted to keep.
Perhaps the ancient ones of the Gunditjmara people
have taken her with them to their dreamtime.
There are no answers evident or none that can be found.
I’ll take flowers to Granny in the meantime.
Maureen Clifford © 03/12
This is the story of
Granny's Grave
I went to visit Granny’s grave down there at Warrnambool.
The day was cold and damp – the wind was bleak.
The ocean pounded into shore and flung its spume up high
so noisy that one could not bear to speak.
Her grave sat sad and desolate, no other graves were near
I thought how lonely this woman would be
entombed and isolated here amongst the shifting sands.
I wondered who might know her history.
Everyone called her Granny – but she was Granny to none
who were living, for she died long ago.
Her tombstone says that here lies a Mrs James Raddleston.
Her own name not displayed for none here know.
She’s acknowledged for being the first white woman to die
in Warrnambool in eighteen forty eight.
The settlement had not been established even a year
How did she die? Of What? What of her mate?
She rests o’erlooking Lady Bay and most days some folk pass.
Young surfers, joggers, folk walking a hound.
The Edinburgh Castles rotting hull lies on the sands nearby,
a wreck full of cement the sea had drowned.
Her husband fished for Cray in the wild waters of the bay
and home was just a humble canvas tent.
But none it seems have details of this lady on the shore.
Not who she was, or how her time was spent.
Perhaps she dreams of seeing Southern Right whales passing by,
and hears their singing from out in the deep.
Perhaps she walks the shores at night with other shipwrecked souls
whose bodies Lady Bay opted to keep.
Perhaps the ancient ones of the Gunditjmara people
have taken her with them to their dreamtime.
There are no answers evident or none that can be found.
I’ll take flowers to Granny in the meantime.
Maureen Clifford © 03/12
