Competition

First Prize

Our Heritage Home
by Valerie Read

The council sent a notice that the old house had to go.
Dad crumpled up the letter and adamantly said "No!"
He'd built that house with his own hands when town was just the bush;
there was no way he'd knock it down to suit men of the push.
Some councillors were sent to plead that Dad see common sense;
he got his gun and scared them off. Our father was incensed.

The gun was never loaded and had not been used for years,
but with Dad yelling angrily, those men were full of fears.
"This house is bloody heritage, you idiots," he screamed,
"and you lot dare to tell me what the bureaucrats have deemed.
My wife and I, with our bare hands, made ev'ry brick you see.
When we had finished daily toil, we laid them, Meg and me.

"We cleared the bush in daylight hours, and ploughed the stony ground;
we tended stock and raised our kids upon this little mound.
It took five years to build this house. We hardly slept a wink,
and now you say its derelict! A puerile way to think!
My heart and soul are in this place, with mem 'ries of the past;
you will not touch a precious brick until my time is past.

"So now suburbia's moved in, with rose and fancy lawn;
how many people living here can say that they were born
in their front room, like my kids can? Just Meg and I alone;
not far away two little ones are sleeping 'neath the stone.
It broke our hearts to lose those babes; I will not leave them now.
If you put one step on my land, 'twill be your last, I vow.

"My gentle wife died here last year, I nursed her night and day,
and it will not be too long now before I pass away.
And even then this house will stand. Our kids won't let it go;
this house is part of history, and ev 'ryone should know
how people came to start anew from countries far away
to make a new life for themselves, to set down roots and stay.

"I understand it's not too flash, not suited to a town.
Its homemade bricks look out of place; the roof is rusted brown.
It isn't fancy, I'll admit. A rambling sort of home;
We added rooms as each child came, thus it began to roam.
But it has been a haven when the winter days were bleak,
And offered peace and comfort nestled here beside the creek.

"We had six lovely children, and we lost twins Tom and Jess
who died before they saw a year out in the wilderness.
We buried them beneath the gums that council made us hew:
Too dangerous in suburbs' was the members' point of view.
We stood and held each other as the logs were hauled away;
the children's swing and cubby house were left in disarray.

"Can you believe that from our porch we looked across the plains,
o'er paddocks dancing in mirage their hopeless plea for rains.
That kangaroos came to our steps, and emus strutted by,
and wedgetail eagles high above were rulers of the sky?
We used to see shy wombats once, goannas by the score,
but now it's dogs and screeching cats, no wildlife anymore.

"We had emaciated sheep that didn't give much wool,
and tried to grow a bit of wheat, the bins were never full.
We lived on rabbit, mutton stew, and damper ev'ry week;
the old cow gave a bit of milk -a monumental feat.
Our kelpie paid her board and keep; her pups were worth a bob;
Old Jill was known from far and wide as expert at her job.

"There was no food when drought was on, those times were very
hard, and mobs of thirsty brumbies often broke into our yard
so desperate for water from the corrugated tank,
but it was nearly empty then, and ev'ry drop was rank.
It broke our hearts to see them, once so proud and roaming free,
our only help, a bullet that would end their misery.

"And see that cranky windmill that our neighbours moan about.
It was the thing that saved us in the bitter years of drought.
It caught the faintest breezes. "Dear God turned it," Mother said;
the times that water fed us with a mouldy slice of bread.
Enough to keep us going till the rain's most welcome sound.
'Twas wonderful to smell it as it soaked into the ground.

"We' d wake to kookaburras welcoming a brand new morn,
the trilling songs of magpies, lovely symphonies to dawn,
with cheeky willy wagtails searching in the grass for food,
while cockatoos shrieked warnings as they fed their hungry brood.
Now cats have killed the nestlings, and we rarely hear their song.
They tell me that it's progress, but I reckon they are wrong.

"And then the land was opened and developers came in;
they tore out all the gum trees, putting palms and *lilacs in.
They spread black tar along the tracks, and scared off all the birds;
no more we saw the emus, kangaroos or brumby herds.
Then architects' square boxes started sprawling here and there,
and noisy cars and buses drove down ev'ry thoroughfare.

"Along the winding creek bed they've put parks for kids to play,
with fountains spouting water, but the wild life's gone away.
There's never any children playing on the council's glade,
bet they'd prefer a rubber tyre beneath a gum tree's shade.
They'd love to catch the yabbies that were wonderful to eat,
or swim in stagnant water, slimy mud beneath their feet.

"As long as there is breath in me, I'II stand against you all;
I'll die before I let you turn my homestead to a mall.
You've offered me a fortune, but your money can't erase
the happiness and heartache we've all known upon this place.
Just build your centre round me; I don't care what people say;
this house is their proud heritage, and they'll say 'thanks' one day."

* Cape lilacs