Mar 13 2007

Rain from Nowhere

Category: PersonalRory Primrose @ 13:50

I get a reasonable amount of forwarded email from family. A lot of it is spam or chain mail type stuff that I don't want. This was a good one though. My mum sent me this poem that has been doing the email rounds lately.

Muzza (Murray Hartin) was asked to pen something for the Salvation Army that can bring awareness to the general public about Rural suicide. The Rural suicide rate in Australia has jumped dramatically because of the severe drought we are experiencing.

 

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 grandad 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 its contents, felt moisture in his eyes,
Just the fact his 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 well away,
See, you'll always have your family at the back end of the day.
You 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 by 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.

Murray Hartin
February 21, 2007

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Comments

1.
Lynette Milnes Lynette Milnes says:

I heard this on the radio this am.  How could you but listen and a tear (or two) come to your eye.  I have been a farmer all of my life and lived through drought as a kid, then with kids, now we have sold the farm and we live through the drought with friends.  Although we sold the farm in 99, it will always be in our blood. We still feel the heartache and the pain but they are sympathy pains, not felt for ourselves.  Our community still relies on the farmers and too many don't understand this is fact.
If there is a line I hate it is "Rain ahead for the farmers". Don't these people need water to live?

2.
Sharon Jaeschke Sharon Jaeschke says:

I heard this poem on the radio (a community station)on the way to Victoria for a wedding. Over the tea table I told my parents about the tears that had formed in our eyes (my husbands and mine) as we heard a poem about the drought and how a timely letter of love had saved the day for both father and son. To our surprise he said he had heard it that morning as well. I was so overwhelmed I needed to find a copy of it. I grew up on the farm so those times are special to me. I sure know there is a God and he had plans for that father and son.

3.
jennifer o'neill jennifer o'neill says:

i just hope all the city people releiase how tough the farmers out west are doing it in this drought,the coast has had plenty of rain but the farmers have not..

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