Wonder of Willie

[Ron]

The Wonder of Willie

My imagination, to distant past horizons stretched
As Willies vast paddocks in my mind were etched,
Of images portraying existence of another time,
When Great Grandad Bill Graham was in his prime
As then for the Ridge Brothers he’d managed Willie Station,
(A stockman being his chosen vocation,)
And gazing from the gate the swaying grass seemed to tease
My mind with an old photo, that …hovered in the breeze!

The Eighteen Nineties being the era of which it spoke
A portrait shot that …emotions could evoke,
Of Bill, wife Martha and daughter Hilda of seven years
(Where they’d followed in the path of early pioneers,)
With serious expressions as in all portraits of the day,
That it seemed all subjects were required to portray,
But it lent to the impression that those times were so tough
And a safe bet is, they would’ve been, sure enough!

Where ingenuity was lent to improvisation
To deal with unremitting isolation,
(And the harshness of those days can we really comprehend
Or from our soft armchairs, do we only pretend!)
Mod-cons would have been futuristic fantasies of dreams,
But reality was, hard work in extremes,
Though knowing no different, it was life’s way at the time,
Where any small indulgence was thought …sublime!

When they departed Willie, Hilda was Sixteen years old
With pragmatic values that she’d always uphold,
And when, in later life, she was our Grandmother dear!
Her stories of Willie, were given keen ear,
Such as; at the camp of her young aboriginal mate,
She was given a tasty meal, that she ate,
And then to find it was Goanna! …did quite surprise her,
But if hadn’t been told, would have been none the wiser!

To Walgett, for piano exams, she’d journeyed by horse,
And that was considered, just a matter of course
For measured travel was not in hours, but in days or weeks,
Or worse if a deluge flooded the driest creeks,
Though when the Macquarie Marshes filled after drought, the rewards
Along with lush paddocks, was looking towards,
A bird life assemblage in astonishing awe to behold
As the wetlands re-birthed natures beauty untold!

When Oxley, first observed the Marshes, it was thought to be
The edge of Australia’s fabled inland sea,
Though that was Eighteen Eighteen and a very wet season
But Ten years on, Sturt, was able to reason,
That being a dry time, a much different scene was presented
And for the Marshes it was, rainfall augmented,
But in painting a picture, that’s the essence of our land
That country people, only too well understand!

Willie Station now, for visitors, includes Willie Retreat
Where ornithology wants are made replete!
In a bird watching paradise, it is the perfect place
On the Marshes fringe to make a base,
Where caring for nature and all things associated,
Was something that the Tolhursts, initiated,
And Myra, after sadly, losing her late husband Phil,
With resilient passion …carries on still!

A sinking sun, enkindled glow upon the waving grass
As my mind, let well over a hundred years pass,
Taking a trip through generations down memory lane,
(And guess that’s a funny thing …about the brain!)
For the wonder of Willie from years of speculation
Became then for me, thoughts of admiration
For those early inhabitants with, such a strong resolve,
And the Marshes beauty …and all it does involve!


© Ron Boughton
May 2012.

[william williams]

Congratulation Ron for a tale well told

Bill Williams the old battler

[Ron]

Thanks for that Bill, much appreciated.

[Bob Pacey]

Damm Ron bit of a let down after reading the heading, I got in quick in case the moderators got to it first ??/



Well Done mate.



Bob

[Ron]

Thanks Bob,
Sorry about the misleading title mate, Did not even give that angle a thought!
Ron.

[Ron]

Thanks Matt,
yeah been in the 'wilderness' for a while mate, as far as the muse goes that is.
Ron
(that kettle still always on the boil )