OLD JOCK
| In the pages of our history In Australia's early days People earned their daily bread In many different ways in the comfort of the city Most needs were close at hand But some sought a different lifestyle They chose to farm the land Soon little townships blossomed And though many didn't thrive The meagre earnings of the farmers Helped the smaller towns survive But in one country village Life on the land was tough The settlers shared the burden They helped each other through the rough Most people of this village Possessed friendly country charm But they made one man an outcast Although he hadn't done them harm They didn't know where he'd arrived from And they didn't really care One day they'd glanced toward the river And found him sitting there He just didn't seem to fit in He was not of country stock Not a person knew his last name They simply knew him as old Jock Old Jock was the town's boozer A raggedy old man He lived life in a bottle Or in the dregs of a beer can He was treated with suspicion The townsfolk thought of him as trash And though the old man never worked He bought his needs with solid cash All the mounted policemen Were known as 'troopers' then And the local village trooper Was more suspicious than most men If they could pass him without speaking They would silently rejoice He made them feel uncomfortable Jock had a cultured voice. Some said he'd been a British Earl But due to minor crimes He'd been banished to Australia And had fallen on hard times And to explain that he had money The cruelest folk would say That his family sent him money To keep him right out of their way There were many other stories In fact, the rumours were so rife The only thing they knew for sure Jock lived a lonely life He would always smile and say "hello" If they answered, he was glad A cross-bred ancient Kelpie Was the only friend he had Some would nod to him and say hello But in a most disdainful tone And none would stop to talk to him They left old Jock alone If a child should dare to say "hello" The parents words were grim "That old man is a drunkard Don't you ever go near him" So old Jock lived in silence With his Kelpie at his side He wouldn't beg for conversation Old Jock had too much pride The townsfolk chose to shun him And their whispered words were mean But old Jock' and his ragged clothes Were always spotless clean A stream flowed by the township And near the rapids there Old Jock would sit in silence He'd sit on the bank and stare And as he sat in contemplation He had tear mists in his eye He seemed to be remembering The happier days gone by When winter clasped the village It was such a pretty sight Log cabins that had looked so plain Now flaunted coats of white But in this snow-clad fairy land Old Jock became concerned Their mounted Trooper left town early And still had not returned In these freezing temperatures Where steam flows from the breath A night spent in the wilderness Could mean a frozen death In late evening of the first day Old Jock raised the alarm He tried to warn the townsfolk The trooper might have suffered harm They resented old Jock's warning But Jock feared the Trooper's plight The townsfolk would search next morning Jock began his search that night With just a lantern's light to guide him And a warm coat on his back He hurried through the frozen snow To seek the horse's track Jock was in his seventies But blessed with courage bold He searched the land relentlessly He ignored the bitter cold Next day, the townsfolk gathered They knew every face but one The stranger introduced himself He said: "I'm old Jock's son". As they searched the fields and mountains They learned with such a shock The story of the drunkard They had arrogantly named 'Old Jock'. He'd been a brilliant city doctor And all his patients blessed his name He'd cured so many hopeless cases That he had earned a lasting fame But he had turned his back on medicine And turned his back on life When a surgeon he respected Had failed to save his wife Jock didn't blame the surgeon But the wife he loved was gone Without the woman that he worshipped He lost the will to carry on He then had just one aim in life Though his decline had begun He held on to sobriety To raise his loving son His son was now a doctor He'd gained his medical degrees And while he studied medicine Old Jock paid all his fees But while he trained at university Old Jock was on his own It was then he started drinking He couldn't face his life alone With his faithful dog named Kimbo He had left that life behind He had headed for the country With a hope to clear his mind It was plain to see this stranger Loved his father very much They wrote letters every second week So they could stay in touch His father loved this village And though he once was known as 'Doc'. His father told him if he visited He should just ask for 'Old Jock'. The snow was falling lightly And through the snowy fog The searchers saw the bodies Of an old man and a dog And near a rugged cliff face Midst boulders sharp and coarse Standing quietly and so patiently They saw the Trooper's horse And beneath a near-by rocky ledge They saw a vision grand In Jock's coat they saw the Trooper Weakly wave his hand Then with delight they saw old Kimbo Slowly lift his head Old Jock was in a bad way But at least he wasn't dead The searchers quickly noted Despite the chilly, snowy morn Kimbo snuggled close to old Jock To try to make him warm And though Kimbo and the trooper's horse Were able to run free They stayed close beside their masters Because that's where they chose to be The trooper told the searchers That he'd had a nasty fall His Memory was still fuzzy But there were things he could recall He had fallen from his horse And hit his head upon a rock When he dimly regained consciousness He saw the kind face of old Jock Jock began to tend to him He seemed to know just what to do He was efficient and so capable Not the Jock he thought he knew The old man went about his task Though not a word was said He gently used the fallen snow To clean the wound upon his head He snapped small branches from a tree Still, not a word was spoken Then he used the splints to brace the leg The trooper's leg was broken With a voice so kind and soothing He told the trooper to be still With his flannel shirt he wrapped the leg To try to ease the chill He then gently moved the trooper To a rocky cliff face edge To shelter him from falling snow He placed the trooper 'neath a ledge Jock then removed his scarf He placed it 'round the troopers throat And despite the trooper's protest The trooper soon had old Jock's coat Then with sticks Jock found beneath the ledge The driest sticks he could acquire He placed them near the trooper And started a small fire He tried to make the trooper comfortable He fussed over him all night Jock refused to leave the trooper 'Til he felt sure he'd be alright It wasn't until morning When old Jock with worried frown Started off to get assistance From the people of the town The trooper felt so helpless He felt regret that few men know When he saw old Jock exhausted Collapse on a bed of snow Through the tender care of this old man The trooper had survived He knew that he was close to death When old Jock had arrived With lots of heavy blankets The two men were bedded down The searchers placed the men on snow sleds Then started back for town Kimbo snuggled next to old Jock He couldn't bear to wait He had to be beside his master The old man was his best mate The trooper's horse walked near his sled And he held his head with pride They could see he loved the trooper He walked so close to his side After days of slow recovery Both men were fit and well And when people spoke about old Jock They had a different tale to tell They told of a city specialist A doctor of renown And how this famous doctor Chose to settle in their town And in the freezing cold of winter This man so old, so brave Gave up his scarf, his shirt and coat For the man he wished to save They told the story of an old man Who risked all a man can give He was prepared to lose his life So that another man might live With words of glowing pride They told the tale without restraint Not the story of a 'boozer' But the story of a saint K.D. Abbott © 2009 |
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