The drought continues to worry us all. When John was alive we sometimes went for months without rain, but eventually it would come, turning the dusty paddocks green again; but this year the wet season has failed to arrive, with only a few showers to taunt us and do no more than lay the dust for a day or two. Surely no occupation in the world is more dependant on rain than that of working the land, and there is absolutely nothing we can do to provide that vital resource.

I have a small flower bed behind the homestead, that I keep going with the aid of recycled water which I transport by bucket from the bath and sinks. Apart from picking the occasional bunch of flowers for the house when I have a visitor, the chief purpose of the plot is to grow flowers for the graves of my darling John and my dear friend Jenny.

Today I picked two small bunches of the best blooms I have and drove to the cemetery. The day was hot and still. In better times, the musical sounds of the little stream that runs alongside the graveyard and the wind in the leaves of the old river red gums provides a gentle background of sound. I'm always reminded of those classic lines from Banjo Patterson:

And the bush hath friends to meet him and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,

Today, all was silent. The stream has long ceased to flow and won't again until the rains come. No breeze stirred the leaves.

I saw that Jenny's grave already had fresh flowers, so Tom or Ellen must have visited recently. When that happens, rather than impose, I look around for another grave, one that shows signs of neglect, and place the flowers there.

With Anzac Day just gone, that day sacred to all Australians whether religious or not, when all the war memorials in large towns and small are visited at dawn and surrounded by wreaths in remembrance, it seemed appropriate that I found a headstone with the familiar insignia of the Australian Imperial Force.

'Sacred to the memory of Thomas Brown Sgt 1st Div AIF 23.6.1896 – 28.8.1932”

Below it was later added “and of his beloved wife Marjorie 14.5.1898 – 16.4.1965”

So much can be gleaned from those few words. Tom Brown was one of those country lads who set off on the 'great adventure' in 1915 and very likely landed on the first day at Gallipoli, that doomed campaign whose aim was to capture the Turkish forts guarding the Dardanelles and thus allow the British fleet access to Constantinople. They never got to see the Dardanelles, and after eight months and the loss of many lives on both sides, the Allies withdrew.

The Allies came up against a brilliant commander Mustafa Kemel Atatürk, the founder of modern Turkey, and it was he who years later wrote that magnificent tribute:

'Heroes who shed their blood and lost their lives! You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are at peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well.”

Every year it is read as part of the commemorative service, and even now I can scarcely read it for the tears that come to my eyes.

Thomas must have survived Gallipoli, but worse was to come in the killing fields of northern France and Belgium. The Somme, Ypres, Passchendaele, Fromelles - even now those names strike a chord with all of us. Or was he sent to Palestine to fight against the Ottoman Empire? I wonder if he knew the McKenzie boys from our Station who gave their lives for King and Country? Surely he did for the country was lightly populated in those days. Wherever he went, he must have seen things which were burnt indelibly into his memory.

Then after the war he came home and married Marjorie. Was she a childhood sweetheart who waited for him, or did he met her after the war? What did he do then? Was he a farmer or labourer? He died very young, only thirty-six. It's often said that not all the casualties of war occur on the battlefield. Many return home wounded in body, and perhaps even more wounded in mind. Did the demons that disturbed his sleep finally drive him to seek the only way to peace? I will never know. Marjorie outlived him by thirty-three years. What trials might she have suffer at the hands of a troubled husband? Did they have children? If so, they probably moved away for their grave shows no sign of any recent visits.

I knelt down and gently placed the flowers on their grave, whispering as I did so “Rest in peace, Tom and Marjorie.”

Then I got up and walked to where my beloved husband lies.

To be continued

Image credit: Australian cattle station by Harris Walker reproduced under Creative Commons licence with attribution.