My Pop

His passing was not unexpected but that makes it no less sad.

He came from a time different to mine but taught me much to make me a man.

A farm's a long way from the suburbs and values have more meaning.

I learnt the value of life from death in that rural setting.
I learnt about a full days work.
I learnt to shoot, trap and hunt.
I learnt to drive.
I learnt that English comedy was the best, Dad's Army, the two Ronnies.
I learnt to bowl and defend my wickets, to kick a footy and take a fall without crying.

I remember time spent in a sun warmed barn, dust floating in the air, with my/Peter's hunting dog sleeping on my arm.

I remember running around paddocks herding cattle by whistle and command because there was no dog with us, and loving it.

I remember loss as wine, women and other interests kept me away.

They sold the farm when it got to much, well before I left Tasmania to become an Ambo and I've never been near the place since.

I'll carry the farm at Sandfly as I knew it with my Nan and Pop for the rest of my life.


Mum gave me this photo, it was taken before she was even born.
When Tracy got it out so I could scan it for this post she glanced at it as she has before and said 'so that's where you get it from' and pointed to the pen in Pops pocket.
I don't know, but even as I sit here on my days off I do have a pen in my pocket?

Be careful out there and I'll see you at the Big One.

Taz