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Stories from all over the World
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Here is a
story from Australia. It belongs to the flowers on the left. They are
called:
Sturt Desert Pea |
Once
there lived 2 family`s. For some reason they had a feud with each other
One
day a man from the one family fell in love with a woman from the other family.
She loved him too. He made a cloak for her from red feathers.
His
family found out about their love and told the man to abandon the woman or else
he had to leave his home. He left and went to his woman. His family was so
furious, they killed him. The woman was desperate and cried her heart out on the
spot where it all happened. When the family later on returned to fetch his body,
they only found the sturt desert peas all over the place. Like the cloak she
wore.
If
you have some stories you would like to share, please email them and I will put
them on this
page.
Here
is a story I got from John, a friend from Australia. Thanks John!
SHADOWS OF THE PAST
The night sky was full of
stars as the truck drew to a stop at the boundary gate and the passenger wiped
the sleep from his eyes as he climbed down to open it. The country was a reddish
brown, and even in the light from the stars it was easy to see that drought had
the land in its cruel grip. As the truck continued on its trip, excitement
started to build in the passenger, a lad of fifteen, taking his first steps into
the world outside his childhood.
The property that had employed
him was over 120,000 acres and was one of the first settled away from the rivers
in Western New South Wales. The collection of buildings stood out in the
headlights as they drew to a stop. Before he could help the driver unload, a
gruff voice told him to start working, as that was what he was being paid to do.
The speaker was an old, gray hared man of rather frightening proportions, tall,
angular and with a slight stoop.
After the truck had left the
old man handed the lad a kerosene lamp and pointing to a row of adobe huts, told
him to use the end room. This turned out to be a small room with a single bed
and kapok mattress. A small table was the only other piece of furniture. Making
up the bed, the boy climbed into it with hopes and fears running through his
head. It was almost 1am., but he was too exited to sleep, he would just lie
there and think of the new life in front of him, too many things to think about………….
The kero lamp had burned itself out and it seemed to be darker than it had ever
been…." I’ve done most of your work for you already, don’t let the
boss catch you sleeping in like this, he don’t like it" A very old man
was standing at the foot of the bed and it was 5.20am.
Old Ken was a relic of the
past. This was the year 1964 and he was one of the last ‘spare men’ that the
big properties employed. A drover and stockman in times gone by, he was offered
free board and tobacco for life, in return for odd jobs and being at the
homestead when everyone was away on the property. It was his job to feed the
chooks, water the garden ECT. He had lit the fire and let the dogs off their
chains, a job that the lad had to do every morning at 5 am for the next year.
Drought was over a wide area
at this time (Dec. 1964) and in his first month in the workforce, it was the boy’s
sad duty to destroy stock, too weak to walk. He would learn to ignore the misery
he felt when doing this. Rabbits in their tens of thousands also perished. Their
stench could be smelt everywhere.
Three weeks after arriving,
the lad watched the Flying Doctor come to take Old Ken into hospital. Two days
later, the Boss gently broke the news that the old man had died, and was to be
buried on the property. The grave was dug at the head of the airstrip and the
funeral service was conducted under a dark sky. The coffin was flown in and an
airplane, which doubled as the hearse, taxiing up to the open grave. The service
was a simple, but dignified one, and an old bushman was laid to rest in the
country he loved. The drought broke that night.
A feature of the Station was
the original homestead, built in the 1870s and preserved with all original
furnishings. The boss kept it locked "to keep Mrs. Kennedy happy" It
had not been opened for many years. Old Ken used to talk about Mrs. Kennedy, the
ghost of the original settler’s wife walking along the old homestead verandah.
The story was that she would walk the verandah of the old homestead wearing a
long gray nightdress and carrying a lamp. Her time had not been easy in this
land beyond the Western Rivers. The tiny grave of a five-month-old infant behind
the homestead stood as mute testimony to this fact. There was also the grave of
her eight-year-old daughter a few miles from the homestead. As the family was
leaving the property, bankrupt and never to return, their daughter slipped off
the loaded bullock wagon and went under the wheels. The lad was never able to
look at this grave without feeling a sense of sadness for the Pioneers wife, the
woman who lost her child so long ago.
The old homestead was like a
magnet to a fertile imagination. Every chance he got, the lad would try to see
in through the thick layer of dust covering the windows from the inside, always
without luck. On one occasion, he was given the job of sweeping the verandah
after a bad dust storm. One door seemed to be not too strongly secured and a
plan developed in his mind where he could push the door open and claim to have
tripped and fallen against it. It didn’t occur to him that he first had to
open a screen door and turn the main lock before forcing the door. As the door
swung open, he could see an old dining room table with chairs around it. An
ornate lamp stood on the table. Pictures hung on the wall. Everything was
covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Opposite the
door was an ornate fireplace. As the door opened fully, the lad looked across at
the fireplace and seen a ghostly specter, complete with gray nightgown slowly
rise from the fireplace. Fear gripped him and he ran to the new homestead to
tell the Boss his story.
 He
had seen the Boss in bad tempers before, but nothing like when he found out the
door had been opened. The only thing that stopped the lad from being reported to
the police was that there were no footprints inside the house. After he calmed
down, the Boss went looking for the "ghost". The lad was not allowed
to enter the building, but was able to see his ghost from the verandah. Over the
years, a thick curtain of cobwebs had collected over the fireplace. When the
door opened, the draught had caused the cobwebs to rise. Sounds simple now, but
the fear that the lad felt at the time was very real. It very nearly cost him
his job and bought the threat of dismissal if he ever went within ten yards of
the old homestead again.
The twelve months that the boy
spent on the Station were to leave a lasting impression on him. One year of
learning, horse riding, mustering and a thousand other things. The coming of the
Shearing Team to the Station was to be what finally made him leave. Watching the
team in full action fascinated him. The economy of labor and the efficient way
that so many sheep were shorn in a day was to prove too strong an enticement for
him. This and the fact that the shed hands were only working five days a week
and earning three times as much as him. One year after that truck ride into a
new life, the boy was now a young man and ready for the next big adventure
waiting for him. This time it was to last a lot longer and involve a lot of
travel.
This story was set almost
forty years ago, and was written by me, about myself. I recently returned to the
Station with two lads about the same age as I was when I first left
home. The old place was changed, almost beyond recognition. Floods had destroyed
Mrs. Kennedy’s home and the walls had all collapsed. I stood at that door from
so long ago and looked at the fireplace opposite. I felt strange as I thought I
heard the Boss roar at me. I spent a lot of time just wandering around. My room
seemed much smaller than before and everywhere I looked I could see the Boss
heading toward me. I tried to tell the two boys with me about Old Jim and his
mannerisms. They could not believe that he used to kick me where it hurt or clip
my ears if I done wrong or done nothing. The kicks and hits were many, but never
hurt, not really.
The country we were in was
desert and without good survival skills it would be impossible to last more than
a few hours without water. I now realize the gruffness and bullying tactics of
the Boss were to ensure that he taught me those skills in a way he felt best
able. Everywhere I looked I seemed to see him, hear him yelling for or at me. I
also heard the gentle, kind old man that told me so much about the history of
the area and so much about life itself. It was only then that I began to
understand the love and deep respect I had for this cranky old man who had died
over twenty years earlier. He wouldn’t survive in today’s world with all its
rules and regulations, but his ways were the ways that opened up vast amounts of
desert land. He was among the last of the true ‘old time bushmen’ and the
Country is poorer for their passing.
Before leaving the Station, I
took a ten minute walk to the head of the airstrip and spent a quiet time at the
grave of old Ken, another gentleman of an era past. I also visited the graves of
the two Kennedy children and tidied them up.
Lucky
(Thanks
Tom!)
LUCKY.
. .
Mary
and her husband Jim had a dog, Lucky. Lucky was a real character.Whenever
Mary and Jim had company come for a weekend visit they would warn their friends
to not leave their luggage open, because Lucky would help himself to whatever
struck his fancy. Inevitably someone would forget and something would come
up missing. Mary or Jim would go to Lucky's toy box in the basement and
there the treasure would be, amid all of Lucky's favorite toys. Lucky always
stashed his finds in his toy box and he was very particular that his toys stay
in the box.
It
happened that Mary found out she had breast cancer. Something told her she
was going to die of this disease...she was just sure it was fatal. She scheduled
the double mastectomy, fear riding her shoulders. The night before she was
to go to the hospital she cuddled with Lucky. A thought struck her...what
would happen to Lucky? Although the three year old dog liked Jim, he was
Mary's dog through and through. If I die Lucky will be abandoned, Mary
thought. He won't understand that I didn't want to leave him. The thought
made her sadder than thinking of her own death.
The
double mastectomy was harder on Mary than her doctors had anticipated and Mary
was hospitalized for over two weeks.
Jim
took Lucky for his evening walk faithfully but the dog just drooped,
whining
and miserable. But finally the day came for Mary to leave the hospital.
When she arrived home Mary was so exhausted she couldn't even make it up the
steps to her bedroom. Jim made his wife comfortable on the couch and
left her to nap. Lucky stood watching Mary but he didn't come to her when she
called. It made Mary sad but sleep soon overcame her and she dozed.
When
Mary woke for a second she couldn't understand what was wrong. She couldn't move
her head and her body felt heavy and hot. Panic soon gaveway to laughter
though when Mary realized the problem....she was covered, literally blanketed in
every treasure Lucky owned! While she had slept the sorrowing dog had made trip
after trip to the basement and back bringing his beloved mistress his favorite
things in life. He had covered her with his love.
Mary
forgot about dying. Instead she and Lucky began living again, walking
further and further together every night. It has been 12 years now and Mary is
still cancer-free. Lucky? He still steals treasures and stashes them in
his toy box but Mary remains his greatest treasure.
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