Your final letter said

I know you will think

I’m a wimp.

There was a time

you acquired your own pony

and rode it everywhere

not a done thing

ladies a place and a plate

you had a horseshoe

good luck if you were

sharper than the average bloke

Craigieburn’s razorback ridges

no place for a woman or a horse

let alone a woman on a horse   

your sheep station Flock Hill

you managed shepherds, cooked

caught lambs, at Amuri Motors

shorthand captured bosses ‘ words

organised dates and times.

Until it was you doing their job.

You played a good game of anything

it was all about strategy

A scratching oppossum, the Tassie kind

simply required thick leather gloves

on efficient hands thin skin

simply required a dark wit

knowing what to do in a tight spot.

Take I to bed but don’t bend I

Grandad would say

after a roast with steamed pud

They made a mess of you

A slip of the surgeon’s scalpel

you could not bend or sit still

it was stand or lie so in a bind

to cut a long story short

you chose the date and time