THE OLD SADDLERY

It sits on a corner  

in our little town -

old,

built of local stone

with an ornate parapet

embellished with a horse head

and the original ownership

“J F Roennfeldt –

Saddle, Harness and Collar Maker”.

 

On nearby tree trunks

one can find hitching rings 

from days when horses 

were the main means of transport.

 

But times have changed. 

Someone lives in the old saddlery now 

with plans for a delicatessen

and coffee shop nearby.

 

The neigh of horses 

has been replaced 

by the thrum 

of passing motor traffic.

Years ago

the parapet sign 

was covered 

with a new coat of paint

and seemingly forgotten

until a new owner

found and restored it.

 

It is old 

and faded again now. 

I wonder ... 

 

 

DAVE

He was a character

seemingly larger than life -

Dave –

a cattle-man,

tall and lean,

far seeing eyes,

broad brimmed hat

and a distinctive drawl.

A thousand square miles

of red sand, 

spinifex,

desert oak

and mulga scrub

was his kingdom.

 

Some years before,

he had walked

a herd of cattle

twelve hundred miles 

for nine months

to establish it.

 

We knew Dave

as neighbour,

fifty miles away,

not close

but always there

to provide support

or a talk

or coffee

along the track –

always a true bush friend.

 

 A memory of Dave Fogarty from when we lived at Amata 1970 - 72.

 

Sunrise at Mulga Park,

Dave's Cattle Station,

on the way to Amata.

 

My First Bush School

 

It was old

built of rough local stone,

mud and rough sawn

native pine.

 

There was a crack

down one corner

wide enough to 

insert your hand.

 

No toilets

or running water, 

just two foot tracks 

over the hill 

to the nearby creek,  

one for girls 

and one for boys.

 

A wobbly teacher’s desk, 

a dozen or so  

old student desks 

and two chalk-boards 

on easels  

were the only furnishings.

 

It was winter – 

dry, desert cold, 

with morning frosts 

and a freezing daytime wind.

 

For warmth 

we’d feed a pine log 

through the doorway 

into the open fireplace 

to feed a meagre fire,  

our only source of warmth.

 

I keep a photograph of it still,

though the memory is so rich. 

The chalkboard date is 

24th April 1963, 

although I had started there  

three weeks earlier 

on April Fools Day, 

but it was no prank.  

This was a place of learning, 

and I was both teacher and a learner.

 

 

OLD SCHOOL RUIN

It sits alone in the forest,

an old stone hearth and chimney –  

no sound but the wind in the trees, 

an occasional bird-call 

and perhaps the drone 

of a tractor   

on a nearby farm.

 

And yet a memory

of such joy and liveliness –  

young voices at play 

or raised in song – 

chanting “tables”,  

sometimes squabbling, 

always learning, 

preparing for life 

in a world yet unknown.

 

The old Wirrabara Forest school in the Southern Flinders Ranges of South Australia is commemorated by its restored fireplace and chimney. It was one of many "one teacher schools" that dotted the "bush".