At $AU219 the price is more than that in the US (but isn't that always the way for tech in Australia).
|Saint Andrew's Cross or the Saltire|
The flag of Scotland
|Tom Curry, Roy Woodward, Allan Curry|
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, In accents most forlorn, Outside the church, ere Mass began, One frosty Sunday morn. The congregation stood about, Coat-collars to the ears, And talked of stock, and crops, and drought, As it had done for years. "It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke; "Bedad, it's cruke, me lad, For never since the banks went broke Has seasons been so bad." "It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil, With which astute remark He squatted down upon his heel And chewed a piece of bark. And so around the chorus ran "It's keepin' dry, no doubt." "We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "Before the year is out." "The crops are done; ye'll have your work To save one bag of grain; From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke They're singin' out for rain. "They're singin' out for rain," he said, "And all the tanks are dry." The congregation scratched its head, And gazed around the sky. "There won't be grass, in any case, Enough to feed an ass; There's not a blade on Casey's place As I came down to Mass." "If rain don't come this month," said Dan, And cleared his throat to speak - "We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "If rain don't come this week." A heavy silence seemed to steal On all at this remark; And each man squatted on his heel, And chewed a piece of bark. "We want an inch of rain, we do," O'Neil observed at last; But Croke "maintained" we wanted two To put the danger past. "If we don't get three inches, man, Or four to break this drought, We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "Before the year is out." In God's good time down came the rain; And all the afternoon On iron roof and window-pane It drummed a homely tune. And through the night it pattered still, And lightsome, gladsome elves On dripping spout and window-sill Kept talking to themselves. It pelted, pelted all day long, A-singing at its work, Till every heart took up the song Way out to Back-o'-Bourke. And every creek a banker ran, And dams filled overtop; "We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "If this rain doesn't stop." And stop it did, in God's good time; And spring came in to fold A mantle o'er the hills sublime Of green and pink and gold. And days went by on dancing feet, With harvest-hopes immense, And laughing eyes beheld the wheat Nid-nodding o'er the fence. And, oh, the smiles on every face, As happy lad and lass Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place Went riding down to Mass. While round the church in clothes genteel Discoursed the men of mark, And each man squatted on his heel, And chewed his piece of bark. "There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man, There will, without a doubt; We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "Before the year is out."
|The Story of Bob Waterer and his Family|
|Allan John Curry (L) and mates Jack Bales/Boles, Skewy Chefers, Jack Grant|
|East Hills is just across the river from Holsworthy|
Source :http://www.awm.gov.au/commemoration/customs/poems.aspWith proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables at home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.Laurence Binyon (1869–1943)
|19th Century Medal for Clog Walking in Scotland|
Folder for 20th Century Sunday School Examination Certificates
|Original Jurd Family Indenture from 19th century|
|Painting of Jean Mary and Edith Berta Gowans|
|Our newly framed painting by Berta Gowans is ready to hang|
|Geniaus' (centre front) Third Birthday Party|
|Wendy signing one of her children's books|
|Inside History Issue 7|
|Snippet from My Article|