BRUSH OFF THE DUST

[Maureen K Clifford]

this was on the old site.



BRUSH OFF THE DUST


An open paddock miles from ‘Nowhere’.
A picket fence in disrepair.
Red dirt road winding through low hills.
All around I feel despair.
Old slab hut with timbers crumbling,
sagging roof and rusted tank.
Fence post’s down and wires broken.
Another victim of the bank?

Withered flowers brown and crumbling
lie limp and faded all alone.
I wonder why? And who would leave them?
Brush off the dust..a child's tombstone.

Roughly carved, not made of marble
just humble sandstone from the creek,
with a name, a date, and ' love you',
all inscribed. The words that seek
to depict a Mothers anguish
and reflect Fathers despair.
How their hearts must have been broken
when they were forced to leave her there.

Brush off the dust and pick fresh flowers.
Wattle, Bottlebrush and Thyme.
Place them gently on the headstone
just as I would if she were mine.

Maureen Clifford ©

[Heather]

That's lovely Maureen.

Heather

[Terry]

Thanks for posting this Maureen,

There's nothing quite as sad, as a child's death,
the despair and the agony of losing a child is unending for a parent.
They may eventually learn to live with it, but they never really get over it.

Terry

[Maureen K Clifford]

You're welcome Terry. There is nothing so sad as a babys grave - as a kid I used to take Mums Ajax and a scrubbing brush and clean the angel statues on the babies graves and make daisy chains for them - if I went missing Mum always knew where to find me I always felt sad even as a kid that they seemed to have been forgotten. They were very old graves.

[Bob Pacey]

Seen a few of these lonely graves in my time Maureen and this is a fitting tribute.

The grave that caused me the most concern was a one at Gracemere Private Cemetary.

Robert Pacey.


Looking at your own name on a grave stone can be a bit concerning.

Thanks Bob

[Terry]

I know what you mean Bob,
I went to my cousins husbands funeral about four years ago at a little cemetery just south of perth, and we were all standing around the grave as you do and when the service finished I turned around to walk away and there was this grave right in front of me belonging to Terry Piggott. As you say, a bit unnerving Bob.

Terry

[Heather]

Oooh Terry, that is spooky! I bet that sent shivers up your spine.

Heather

[Maureen K Clifford]

Definitely cause for contemplation there Bob and Terry - not as if either of you have particularly common names either. Wonder what the odds are on that happening?

[Neville Briggs]

In the old part of the great Rookwood Cemetery in Sydney there are a number of headstones with names and ages of infants, and alongside some of these headstones can be found a headstone for a young teenage girl with a different family name.
Someone explained to me that in the nineteenth century, young girls were employed as "nannys" to look after the children, when an infant child caught a deadly disease it often carried off the nanny as well, hence the presence of the young girls graves alongside the infants.

I don't know if that is true, it seems a reasonable explanation to me, and a very poignant memorial of the things that affected people in the past. We take a lot of our medical advances for granted.

[worddancer]

hi every one , and Maureen, and again you've brought the feelings of the place into your words. I really like walking among the old graves in country towns. I was visiting Kangaroo Island with a friend (before mobile phones, digital cameras or PCs), The National Heritage Association, ask if I would transcribe the graves if I got a chance. We found the old cemetery, very close to the settlers' first landfall in 1837. The headstone belonged to someone called, Governor George. It could have meant Governor, George but whatever it was, the words showed gratitude. The only date legible on the stone was the year 1837.
The script commenced at the very top of the stone just under his name and told of his help and concern on the voyage out. How many souls arrived and how many were lost. The tribute ended just above the dirt, almost as if the stonemason ran out of room!
History pages in the dirt.