Short Stories

Almost 18 Years With My Dad

I was a month short of my 18th birthday when dad was killed. We were very close - fishing together, rabbiting, shooting, gathering firewood, working on cars, rolling his cigarettes, helping in the vegetable garden and every opportunity helping him in the bush. I was always on the other end of a crosscut saw and spent every vacation carting saws, axes, wedges through the bush,swinging the axe, boiling the billy, measuring logs and simply being with him. He was a gentle man and I loved him dearly admiring his very powerful frame although he was slightly short of six foot. After lunch every Sunday we always listened to the Country and Western half hour of songs from 3SR in Shepparton. My greatest single wish was to buy him a new car. He worked so hard and for very little money in those days. It used to really upset me.

The 22nd August 1961 remains as vivid as yesterday. It was a chilly morning and when he got up I immediately went out to the kitchen and helped light the fire. Everyone else was in bed but dad and I sat together chatting and having breakfast. He wanted me to get some onion seedlings in Alexandra for the vegetable garden. As he left I walked to the back door with him and he gave me a kiss on the cheek. As he walked around the corner of the house I called out that I wouldn't forget the seedlings. Suddenly he reappeared and came back putting his arms around me, giving me a hug and another kiss and said "Goodbye mate". It was the last time I was to see him. His death was absolutely devastating to me because we were so close. He was falling trees with Alan Gilmore in very steep country. It was the last tree for the day and approaching 4.45 p.m. So dad told Alan to get well out of the way while he made a final cut to fall the tree. As it fell it hit another tree bringing down a shower of limbs.

Although a tree took your life, nothing will take the memories. Rest in peace and God bless.