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DG Bernie's Weekly
Message
RAIN WILL FOLLOW
DROUGHT
I invite you to look
close to home at this time as the need is great, caused by the
drought that has gripped many parts of Australia. I have no ready
answer but I hope to make you stop and think about what we can do
for our fellow Australians who are suffering and who are in the
depths of depression.
This is a poem written
by a real farmer to highlight the seriousness of the depression
being suffered out there on the land. His name is Murray "Muzza"
Hartin and he wrote this last month in response to a request to
write something for the Salvation Army to bring awareness to the
general public about rural suicide.
Rain From
Nowhere
His cattle didn't get
a bid, they were fairly bloody poor,
What was he going to do? He
couldn't feed them anymore
The dams were all but dry, hay was
thirteen bucks a bale,
Last month's talk of rain was just a
fairytale.
His credit had run
out, no chance to pay what's owed,
Bad thoughts ran through his
head as he drove down Gully Road
"Geez, great granddad bought the
place back in 1898
Now I'm such a useless bastard, I'll have to
shut the gate.
Can't support my wife and kids, not like dad and
those before
Even Grandma kept it going while Pop fought in the
war".
With depression now his master, he abandoned what was
right
There's no place in life for failures, he'd end it all
tonight.
There were still some
things to do, he'd have to shoot the cattle first,
Of all the
jobs he'd ever done, that would be the worst
He'd have a shower,
watch the news, then they'd all sit down for tea
Read his kids a
bedtime story, watch some more TV,
Kiss his wife goodnight, say
he was off to shoot some roos
Then in a paddock far away, he'd
blow away the blues.
But he drove in the gate and stopped - as he
always had
To check the roadside mailbox - and found a letter
from his Dad.
Now, his Dad was not a
writer, Mum did all the cards and mail
But he knew the style from
the notebooks that he used at cattle sales,
He sensed the nature
of the contents, felt moisture in his eyes,
Just the fact that
Dad had written was enough to make him cry.
"Son, I know it's
bloody tough, it's a cruel and twisted game,
This life upon the
land when you're screaming out for rain
There's no candle in the
darkness, not a single speck of light
But don't let the demon get
you, you have to do what's right.
I don't know what's in
your head but push the bad thoughts away
See, you'll always have
your family at the back end of the day
You'll have to
talk to someone, and yes, I know I rarely did
But
you have to think about Fiona and think about the kids.
I'm
worried about you son, you haven't rung for quite a while,
I know
the road you're on 'cause I've walked every mile.
The date?
December 7 back in 1983,
Behind the shed I had the shotgun rested
in the brigalow tree.
See, I'd borrowed way
too much to buy the Johnson place
Then it didn't rain for years
and we got bombed with interest rates.
You said, "Where are you
Daddy? It's time to play our game
I've got Squatter all set up,
you might get General Rain".
It really was that
close, you're the one that stopped me son,
And you're the one
that taught me, there's no answer in a gun.
Just remember people
love you, good friends won't let you down,
Look, you might have
to swallow pride and get a job in town,
Just 'til things come
good son, you've always got a choice
And when you get this
letter, ring me, 'cause I'd love to hear your voice.
Well, he cried and
laughed and shook his head then put the truck in gear,
Shut his
eyes and hugged his Dad in a vision that was clear,
Dropped the
cattle at the yards, put the truck away
Filled the troughs the
best he could and fed his last ten bales of hay.
Then he strode
towards the homestead, shoulders back and head held high,
He
still knew the road was tough but there was purpose in his
eye.
He called for his wife
and children, who'd lived through all his pain,
Hugs said more
than words - he'd come back to them again.
They talked of silver
linings, how good times always follow bad,
Then he walked towards
the phone, picked it up and rang his Dad.
And while the kids set
up the Squatter, he hugged his wife again,
Then they heard the
roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain.
Lead The Way
and spread this around.
Bernie
Walshe
District Governor
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