Poet's Corner - Mulga Bill's back

For months they did toil from day light till dark, tying slabs to the poles he had buried in the ground, sealed them off with mud from the creek, it's starting to take shape just as they want it to be.

Now the shack is finished, the fire place in, old camp oven and black billy stand proudly in front, a clay floor polished and shining like new, and the old meat safe stands proudly where you walk through.

A lean to, that covers the old copper outside, tin bath that stands proudly beside, old wash trough, hand wringer, and old ripple board, a cake of velvet soap in a tin down the front, Nan's old painting easel with its broken leg, stand's waiting for the day she has time to paint again.

Now the bed, table and chairs, were wired in place, made out of saplings gathered from along the creek bed, bran bags stitched together and stuffed with grass, made up the inserts to finish them off.

Nan, this spring morning moved her easel outside, propping it up to make it straight, then affixed a canvas onto the base, and drew a self-portrait of Nan, pa and old Blue, well she sketched it out, then began to paint, the lines on their face and their eyes taking shape, drew the lips and added the teeth, with the dogs tongue hanging out she finished it off, then out of old timber she made a picture frame, fixed it on and hung it inside.

As a young fellow with adventure at hand, I decided to wander across the sun burnt land, shearing sheep and rousing about, building fences and clearing scrub, work was hot and hard as hell, he never piked nor did he give up, every day was a challenge, he would do anything, for a few shillings a feed, his keep, and a bed, after ten years of roaming, it was time to go home, the old farm was calling, there was work to be done, his grand parents and old Blue were called to above, there buried on a hill overlooking the farm.

As I enter through the old wire gate, track overgrown, shack straight ahead, pull up the old Landrover beside the creek bed, and survey the mess I have to clean up.

Now the fences are down first job at hand, straighten them up secure the land, start to clean the scrub around, with a tractor borrowed from a farmer down the road, purchased an old sow with piglets at foot, milking cow to keep me in milk, a couple of chooks a rooster to two, my menagerie is starting to grow.

Today is the day I clean up the shack, cut the vines and clean around the place, open the door and peep inside, it's just like they had left this land behind.

So I gram me a broom and sweep the floor, brush down the cobwebs and light the fire, dust off the bed clothes, table and chairs, it's starting to look like someone is living here at last.

As he sits at the table his head in his hands, and looks at the self portrait of Nan and his Pa, he thanks them in prayer for his life as a child, love and warmth and of their guidance.

Next morning as he climbs out of bed, a knock on the door much to his surprise, was a girl from the next farm, down the road, he invites her in brekky they had, home made bacon and farm fresh eggs, damper toast and black billy tea, quite a conversation it turned out to be.

Now she pops the question about next Saturday night, down the road at the shearing shed, barbecue and a few moonshines, he can't help thinking of one hell of a night, now the dance is over we are on our way home cuddling all the way back to the farm, a great night t'was has by all, as we climbed int bed and slept it off.

After a couple of years the pitter, patter, of feet, forced me into extending the shack, plenty of water plenty of food fully stocked happy as hell, happy wife, kids running around, I can thank my grand parents for the life that they left.

- Mulga Bill

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