Gratitude

On The Death Of My Only Brother. May He Rest In Peace.

Over Seventy Years Of Sibling Stories To Tell — Where Do I Begin?

The marble plinth on which Richard’s coffin sat, with a touching display of photos of him and the violin he made himself. He was a wonderful carpenter.

I have been absent from Medium for about a month, dealing with a family tragedy. The sudden unexpected death of my only brother.

These are my fondest memories of Richard, not in any consecutive order, because these images come to my mind in random flashes.

Sunday Dinners

One thing we both disliked was plucking the chooks for Sunday dinners in Big Bell — “whoever eats the most chook eats the most feathers” was our motto.
We thought that father got off light, because all he had to do was chop off its head and then tie it to the long clothesline, rather than chasing it around the back yard. Maybe we misjudged Bluey’s contribution.

Roaming In The Bush — Unhindered And Unsupervised

We spent hours roaming around in the bush. Once, we went looking for mushrooms in the middle of summer. In later years, we realised our parents had set us up, even to the point of making sure we had a billy can, to bring them home.