ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

The Lonely Grave

The bullet struck him in the flank. He toppled to the ground.
A nurse observed him fall. She’d been alerted by the sound
Of gunfire. John McHaffie also hurried to the scene.
Alas, the sight before him was enough to turn him green.

Captain Grossard lay there with a large and gaping hole
In his abdomen. Alas, for him the bell began to toll.
He was dead within an hour. It had been an accident.
His good friend, Mr Grimwade (oh, so clumsy!), had not meant

His gun to fire a bullet. He was in the deepest shock.
He hadn’t seen the hammer of the barrel at full cock.
In his dying hour Captain Grossard yet forgave
His friend. They placed his body in a lonely cliff-top grave.

Ninety nine years later, and the headstone was at risk
Of tumbling to the ocean, for the climate there is brisk,
And erosion’s march is rapid on that cliff-top by the sea,
So they brought the headstone back beneath an ancient cedar tree.

Now, if you’re ever strolling there, you’ll find a little store
Of ancient history beside the Phillip Island shore
In the little town of Ventnor on the rusty northern coast
Which to Captain Grossard’s spirit and his headstone plays sad host.

© Stephen Whiteside 26.02.2018

Interesting bit of history, Stephen, and that tree is magnificent...talk about weatherbeaten! I'm puzzled by one thing, though. Why is the northern coast "rusty"?

Cheers
David

Thanks, David. The sand has a reddish colour - I'm not sure why.

Great historical snippet again, Stephen! You're really good at digging up these fascinating treasures!

Cheers
Shelley

I agree - a very interesting piece of history indeed, and nicely put together in this poem.

Thank you, Shelley and Catherine.