Commemorating Anzac Day

ANZAC Day on April 25, is likely Australia's most important national occasion, apart from Australia Day on Jan. 26.

ANZAC is a shortened term for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. They fought side by side in the soldiers' first military action together during the first World War.

Every year on that date in April, Australians meet across the nation, from small country towns to the nation's largest cities, to commemorate their union, and especially a long battle fought at Gallipoli in Turkey.

A bit of history: in 1915, the soldiers formed part of an allied expedition that set out to capture the Gallipoli peninsula to open the Black Sea for allied navies. The plan was to capture Constantinople (now Istanbul) which was the capitol of the Ottoman empire and an ally of Germany. They landed on April 25 and met with fierce resistance from the Turkish defenders, according to documents.

What had been thought of as a bold stroke to knock Turkey out of the war ended in a stalemate, and the campaign dragged on for eight months. Both sides suffered heavy casualties and endured great hardships on that beautiful coastline. More than 8,000 Australian soldiers were killed, and April 25 became the day on which Australians remembered the sacrifice of those who had died in that war.

Although the campaign is reported to have failed in its military objective to capture Constantinople and knock Turkey out of the war, the Australian and New Zealand actions bequeathed an intangible but powerful legacy. The creation of what became known as the ANZAC legend became an important part of the legacy of both nations.

Yesterday, I went to a small ceremony in Sebastopol, an incorporated area of Ballarat. The local Sebastopol CFA members were going to march there, some of whom wore their grandparents' medals received in the course of that war, and other wars. Cadets from the Australian military led the march, and other relatives of those who served. Some bore national flags, some carried memorial wreaths.

A high school band played songs, people clapped and cheered, and wind and rain from an autumn storm drenched us and left ears and noses and uncovered hairdos dripping frigid water.

Speakers spoke, wreaths were laid, and after the 30-minute ceremony, schoolchildren in school uniforms posed for pictures in front of a memorial engraved with the names of those who have died in service to this area of the nation. Behind the memorial, 148 white crosses adorned with red poppies were formed in a cross. Several old people stood in silence, looking at names they recognized or perhaps knew as family.

Although Australia is my newly adopted country, I was moved. I longed to sing the National Anthem, Advance Australia Fair, along with my husband, but I didn't know the words. I wanted to join the last words of a poem, Lest We Forget, but I didn't know the cue.

I thought of my grandfather, Leslie Thomas Wallenborn, who was an American Army officer in World War II and the Korean Conflict, and how little I know about him, and his exploits, and was saddened at my lack of knowledge of my own family history in the fight to keep freedom in my own country, and to liberate other, oppressed nations.

I also felt very proud that I do have a family heritage of fighting for a nation's liberty, and also proud to be a part of my new, adopted country which honors its fighting men and women as much as, and perhaps more in some ways, than the country of my birth.

So here is my salute, on this ANZAC Day weekend, to ALL those who serve for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all people...no matter where we hail from.

Australian military cadets leading the way on a cold, drizzly, April autumn morning.

Family members of those who served bearing flags and memorial wreaths.

Memorials like this one, To the Fallen, can be found in nearly every town and city across Australia. The British Union Jack flag flies in tribute to the country Australia served under at that time, and as a nod to the country Australia is a commonwealth to.

"In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead, short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from falling hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep,

Though poppies grow

In Flanders fields."

--John McCrae, May 1915

Can't help meself

Okay, I'm on a roll.

Here we go:

On Australia by Barry Humphries, 1981...
Australia is like a jacuzzi of Bailey's Irish Mist, sort of syrupy and rather too warm. It's interesting that a country that prides itself on its liberty has so many restrictions on it. But then we have a lot of people here in Australia who are natural public servants. I did a little research and found that most public servants can trace their ancestry to convicts. They were in the service and prefer to remain so.

The Australian Desert by Patrick White, 1981:
I've never been very far into the Australian desert. And what's more, I'm determined never to go.

A True Australian by Barry Humphries, 1980:
To be a true Australian you have to dislike everybody from anywhere else. [In fairness, I have to say I have been welcomed as an American here by almost everyone.]

The Curse of Australia by The London Observer: 1981
Flies are the curse of Australia and probably the reason why Australians tend to be irascible. [I hate the flies!!!!]

On Australia, by Patrick White, 1981:
"This sophisticated country is still, alas, a colonial sheep run." [in Victoria at least, this is true]

Some Australian one-liners:

You're as clumsy as a duck in a ploughed paddock.

He was meaner than a goldfield Chinaman, and sharper than a sewer rat.

He's got more corrugations on his belly than a thousand-gallon [rain] tank.

She's as skinny as a sapling with the wood scraped off.

He's as mad as a two-bob watch.

She's a whopper...fully three axe handles across the hips.

All behind like Barney's bull.

He's so mean that when a fly lands in the sugar he shakes its feet before he kills it.

She'd walk ten feet under water with a snorkel in her mouth.

Flash as a rat with a gold tooth.

He wouldn't shout in a shark attack.

If those two blokes were alone in a bar together, they'd die of thirst.

Brains! If your brains was gunpowder, they wouldn't blow off yer hat!

That man was too mean to hang himself.

She's mad as a bag of cut snakes.

Amuse your friends and neighbors with these...even if you don't know what they mean.

The Australian Female

In reading more of Great Aussie Insults, as previously posted, I ran across this bit of interesting drivel printed in The Drum by Sidney J. Baker in 1959. It's a good thing I have a sense of humor. Interestingly enough, I have run across several Aussie women who would fit this bill. Not all, but enough to make me do a double-take.

"Since Australian females lack practice in conversational exchanges with the opposite sex they, too, are frequently shy. Even at their best, verbal offerings are often shallow and repititious. They are poor conversational entertainers. They are almost totally lacking in a self-critical sense of humor. Their thinking tends to be of a non-sequitur variety that would send all but the most complaisant male up the wall. And because of these things, they are usually tense, wary and given to private dreams about knights in shining armour which males rightly scorn. So, because of shyness on both sides, there is little verbal ease between our males and females. And this takes us near to the heart of the problem. Here is a situation that grew out of male diffidence, was sancitified by frontierland courtesy, became static because of female inexperience, and, with nothing to modify it, became fixed into a tradition. If, as a consequence, the Australian male is prepared to wash his hands of the whole affair and confine its corrections to manoeuvres on the couch, one can hardly blame him."

And one more, from a report in Nation Review in 1976 concerning dinners at the Australian country home of Rupert Murdoch.
"...conversation during dinner tends, out of necessity, to invlove the women to a greater extent. The fact that they are seated alternately with the men makes it very difficult to ignore them. Perhaps it is due to their greater involvement in the conversation that it becomes noticeably more banal."

I actually snorted, I laughed so hard!

Aussie Insults

I have a book, "Great Aussie Insults" compiled by Bill Wannan.

So funny, I have to share some of them with you. Where needed, I will translate:

"May all your chooks turn into emus and kick your dunny over." [chooks: chickens, dunny: outhouse]

"He couldn't knock the skin off a rice pudding."

"The typical daily newspaper wants boiling down to the size of a sheet of notepaper and then frying with disinfecting fluid and cayenne pepper to make it wholesome and refreshing." [oh so true!]

"There are only two classes of person in New South Wales. Those who have been convicted, and those who ought to have been." [Australia is notoriously founded by British convicts. Each of the seven states take jibes at each other.]

On the Australian accent from an article in The Australian in 1978:

"The broad Australian accent is not a lovesome thing, I grant you. At its worst, it is reminiscent of a dehydrated crow uttering its last statement on life from the bough of a dead tree in the middle of a claypan at the peak of a seven-year drought."

[The term "larrikin" came into use in the 1870s in Victoria and New South Wales, to denote a street hooligan or tough. Today it is simply an endearment for a bloke who is a jokester.]

NED THE LARRIKIN
A blossom of blackness indeed--
of satan a sinister fruit!
Far better the centipede's seed--
the spawn of the adder or newt!
Than terror of talon or fang
this imp of the alleys is worse:
His speech is poisonous slang--
his phrases are colored with curse.

An old "bush ballad:"
Fair Australia, Oh what a dump.
All you get to eat is crocodile's rump,
Bandicoot's brains and catfish pie,
Let me go home again before I die!

From the Sydney "Bulletin," Australian Sassiety:
"Australian 'sassiety' is a hollow, heartless bedizened swarm of sycopantic snobs and snobbesses."

On Deeming the Murderer:
The dastard demoniac, dubbed Deeming, deserves the doom of a degrading dog's death for diabolical deeds, if demonstrated without doubt that he is the doer.

On Women:
I'd sooner talk to a man than a woman any day. Ten minutes exhausts them.

The Sex Problem Again:
[Written in 1907, the last line is not what contemporaries would think; the term refers to a rooster.]
Some men want to be considered gods in their own homes; you'll generally find that sort of men very small potatoes outside; if they weren't they wouldn't bother so much about being cocks on their own little dunghills.

School-yard song:
Boys are strong
Like King-Kong.
Girls are weak,
Chuck 'em in the creek.

On Marriage:
Oh! Betting and Beer are the basis
of the only respectable life.
Much better to go to the races
Than moulder at home with the wife.

To a Food Waiter:
"What will you have?" said the waiter,
reflectively picking his nose.
"I'll have two boiled eggs you bastard,
you can't put your finger in those."
[Bastard is a common word here, sometimes even denoting affection. It is not necessarily considered a "swear" word as in America. In fact, I have been surprised to discover that several words Americans consider offensive are commonplace here, and no one bats an eyelid.]

And to leave you with one more thought, translation follows...oh, and keep in mind that the national anthem on this continent is entitled "Advance Australia Fair."

Advance Australia:
Wowsers, whingers, ratbags, narks,
Silvertails, galahs and sharks,
Knockers, larrikins, and chromos,
Bengal lancers, bludgers, homos,
Botts and polers, spielers, lairs,
Advance Australia--you are theirs!

translated in order: "wet blanket, whiner, ratbags, tattletale (gossip, troublemaker), pest, silly mindless bird, and sharks, pessimist, larrikin, paintsniffer, English army person, lazy user person, homosexual, botts and polers (don't know) teller of tales, flashy sleazy dressing person...Australia, you are theirs!"



For a laugh, go to http://www.koalanet.com.au/ for Australian slang. Pretty entertaining, and it has been helpful to me to learn the lingo.

My blessings

Today I spoke with both of my children in America.

I visited with Jason and saw his wife briefly for a few happy moments while on Skype. They both are so incredibly nice and funny. I love my son's smile, and his wife's good nature; her smile too, lights up a room.

I spoke with Kimberly Mae on the phone and made an appointment to visit on Skype this Sunday. I also heard my 17-month-old granddaughter giggling and talking in the background. They both have such sweet voices and laughter, and are so pleasant to spend time with.

While speaking with them, it doesn't seem as if we're 10,000 miles apart...thank God for today's technology.

And, perhaps because of the distance, I am more acutely aware of everything they say, every nuance in their gestures, facial expressions, tone of voice, and appreciate more than ever the time we do get to spend together whether its via phone or video calls on the computer.

They have grown into young adults that I am so intensely proud of. Being a "new" step-mother to two teen girls and a young adult man has enhanced my admiration and appreciation of and for my own two children.

My daughter read to me the words from a song that means a lot to her, The Best Day, by Taylor Swift. When she finished, we were both in tears...and I was grateful, and pleased that she thinks so highly of me and loves me so much.

Along that same line, a day or so ago my son sent a letter on behalf of Steve for a character reference, and I was...were were both moved...to tears with his wonderful words and observations. I learned a few things about my son and how much he loves me, from that letter.

Today my son took me on a cyber tour of his and his wife's new abode. He was proud of their place, (it's very nice and fits their personalities so well) and proud to show it to me. I am honored. He and his wife will be here in a week to spend a month with us, and I am so much looking forward to it. I'm so beside myself, I'm almost two of me.

Yet, my joy in my children and their obvious love for me and for Steve as the extended part of "us three" was tempered a bit this week. It was made obvious to us from his circumstances that sometimes children are influenced by several means away from one, or both parents, and everyone suffers for it.

It seems to me that a lot of children nowadays (grown and growing up) don't love and appreciate their parents very much. Perhaps it's because of time spent in the workplace and busy schedules keeping children involved and informed with extra-curricular activities, and sometimes the parent is so caught up in their own interests, that the children are an add-on. Something to deal with later. Life is not so simple anymore. Do parents and children really take the time to get to know each other and foster respect on both sides?

I think we are often too busy. Sometimes ugly divorces make things even harder.

I wasn't the perfect mom, although I wanted to be. As I age, I see so many mistakes I made, and as is common as we get older, seem to focus more on what "coulda been," rather than the good of what was. But my children seem to have overlooked, or even better, overcome my foibles, and have turned out to be young adults that I am very proud of. More than I know how to say. When I try to tell them I cry, and that makes us all feel weird. But they know me. They know my heart. They know they are loved fiercely and without condition. They know my arms and my heart are always open. Always and forever.


"I think it harder
Lord, to cast
the cares of those I love
on You,
than to cast mine.

We, growing older,
learn at last
that You
are merciful
and kind.
Not one time
have You failed me,
Lord--
why fear that You'll fail mine?"
--Ruth Bell Graham

I know that He won't. He hasn't. And He promised that He would be faithful, even if we are faithless. I rest my heart on Him.

Princess Margaret Rose Cave

While a youth on his family farm in the late 1920s and early 1930s, Keith McEachern frequently came across what is known as a runaway hole. He tended sheep and other livestock over the several hundred acres his family owned.

One day, when in his early 20s, he gathered a few friends to help him explore the "sinkhole" that had caught his attention for several years.

He tied a strong rope to a few sapling gum trees nearby, and armed only with a few candles and matches, lowered himself about 31 feet down the hole until he reached bottom.

He bellowed up to his friends that he'd found a cave, and disappeared for two hours while his friends anxously waited for him.

When McEachern returned to the earth's surface, he exclaimed that he'd found Aladdin's cave.

In 1936 he took a few others with him and carved out an access point which took several months.

In the 1940s they were granted permission to name the cave after Princess Margaret Rose, the sister of soon-to-be Queen Elizabeth II of the United Kingdom.

While on a five-day trip on the Glenelg River, this cave is a popular stopping off point, about halfway up from the mouth of the river from the Bass Strait on the Tasman Sea.

I have to say that I have seen photos of stalactites and stalagmites from a famous cave in Arizona, but because such sights can only be seen via spelunking (exploring caves) I thought, "oh well, I'll never see those." I don't like confined spaces, and the thought of crawling on my belly with a flashlight did not appeal to me. The beauty of this cave is that it is "walk-in." So I went along for the walk.

I'm so glad I did. I don't know how to explain what I saw. It is so much more colorful, ethereal, and strange than pictures can do justice.

The Glenelg River, especially further downstream toward its mouth is bordered by huge cliffs of limestone and caves carved by high water. This is the only cave that has been made accessible to people.


The long walk down below the surface.


This is looking toward the entrance where Keith McEachern lowered himself into the cave. The blue sky is a distant dot.


Stalactites.

"Cape" formation on the brownish stalactite. See the water drip on the end of the white spear.

The wall is blanketed in formations.

Where stalactites and stalagmites try to meet.

From the "ceiling."

The "chandelier" in background.

"Bat wing" formation.

The "wedding cake," and "engagement" formations. They call it engagement, because they barely touch. There is another formation nearby where both ends meet, and they call it the marriage. There is also one nearby where they have broken apart and it's named, "the divorce."

A "cape" formation.

Notice fine stratches on the wall. Those are from animals, likely kangaroos and wallabies, that fell through the runaway hole and tried to escape. No vegetation and not much water lead to their horrible deaths.

McEachern said he had to climb over several bones and carcasses of animals who had fallen in over decades.

When our group of tourist spelunkers reached the end, our guide asked us to stand on the stairs or other stable footing.

She turned off all the spotlights and we were blanketed in darkness. I literally could not see my hand in front of my face, even with my palm touching my nose.

I've never been in darkness so intense, so complete.

The guide reminded us that this is the darkness that Keith McEachern lowered himself into.

Armed only with one candle at a time, he found what we had just seen lit up with spotlights.

My creative mind went crazy...putting myself there with him...exploring hauntingly beautiful formations by ghostly candlelight, surrounded by bones of dead animals.

It was quite an experience. It haunts me still.

Precocious child on the river

"Have you ever been on a locomotive?"

"Why are flies black?"

"Why do bees sting you?"

"How far have you traveled on that boat?"

"I don't like eggs. Why do you?"

"The Easter Bunny leaves me chocolate eggs. Do you know why?"

On our last of five days on the Glenelg River, Steve and I settled in for the night. We moored at Saunders Landing, took the tinny out to fish, then came back to the onshore picnic area where no one else was, and started the barbecue. We cooked steaks, onion, corn on the cob and a potato each and settled in fo a game of Scrabble on the picnic table. Night fell, and we enjoyed the sleepy sounds of parrots and other birds settling in for the night.

Then, midway through the board game and with steak nearly finished, from the surface of the black river we heard a foghorn yelling..."Hey, yep, that's the place we saw earlier today. Oh. There's boats there. But I'm sure it's the same place. Oh. It looks like two boats are there. Pull in anyway. Oh. I think I see lights. Pull in hard right. I'll watch out."

Steve and I looked at each other, and decided to help this other boat company who were trying to navigate by very small lights. My husband helped the couple navigate their VERY old, small, "houseboat" into the landing, and we invited them to share a yarn or two while sipping bubbly wine.

They have a five-year-old son. Hence the afore-mentioned questions.

He is precocious, much how I think my granddaughter is. Curious, processes information quickly. Campbell (his name) noticed Steve's and my interrupted Scrabble game and asked questions about the letters and tiny numbers in the corner. I explained the game to him, and enjoyed watching him learn. But he was also fascinated with our flashlight and had it turned on and off most of the evening. At one point he flashed it into the trees and commented about how far it went.

I asked him, "How far do you think the light goes?"

He pondered a moment and answered, "As far as I can see."

"Really?" I said. "But light travels so much farther than we can see. What if someone was on the moon over there and saw your light? Do you think that could happen? What if the light from stars shining down to us was really just a lot of people on other planets shining their flashlights at us hoping we would see them?"

He looked at me quizzically and said, "flashlight?"

"I mean torch," I said. (Australians call flashlights torches)

He thought about what I had asked for a minute, then with a smile and chuckle, discounted it. "Nah," he said. "That's just too far away."

Campbell was distracted then with the idea of melted marshmallows over a campfire cooked by Steve to perfection, not burnt. As the evening wore on, the little fella was ushered off to bed on his parent's "houseboat."

But I am still left with the memory of a very precocious child raised by parents older than me, and how wonderful that is.

Roots and trees

While traveling along at a slow boat's pace a few weeks ago on the River Murray from Echuca I pondered quite a few things.


There is a story within this tree.

The several hundred kilometres-long Murray, Australia's largest in scope to the Mississippi in America, is low because of the decade-and more-long drought. As a result, tree roots spread along the banks like bony hands reaching for shallow, warm, muddy water.

A Bible verse came to mind...Jeremiah 17:7-8, "But blessed is the man [woman] who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in Him. He [she] will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes, it's leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit."

I took several photos of fascinating trees and roots. But there was one set that caught my creative eye, although I failed to get a good photo...

On a stretch, there were two healthy eucalyptus (gum) trees on top of the riverbank, just on the lip of a cliff. Their roots reached into the river about 10 feet below. Between them was a smaller gum tree that had fallen off the ledge but still lived., even though the tip of its roots were just sipping at water.

What struck me as poignant was that the other, mature trees on each side of the adolescent plant held the weaker, younger tree in their branches. In fact, the older branches were so entwined in the younger, that I couldn't see where one's limbs ended and another's began.

Yet, they all thrived.

I am grateful for my mature, older friends...either in biological or spiritual age...that hold me up and help me to gain the nourishment I need to keep going...

even if I'm hanging on to the lip of a cliff.

This is indeed something to ponder...Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, "Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: if one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

Grateful thanks to those who hold me up, keep me warm, keep me from being overwhelmed, and defending me. More thanks than I can say.

Thanks

God,

Forgive us please
For slapping Your
Holy name
on our shirtfronts
as if it was some
sticky, pre-printed
nametag.

"Hello, my name is...
whatever I choose to be
when and how it pleases me
regardless of how it pleases You
as long as I am
at peace
and happy
with lots of money and
children who excel in school
and have a good job
and my neighbors
and in-laws like me
and I have lots of friends, and
OH! I belong to God.
My name is Christian."

With all of that,
O God,
I thank you
And ask for more.

More on lingo

A few months after I arrived in Australia my husband, Steve, called me at home while he was working for the day in Melbourne.

"Hey babe," he said. "Why don't you catch the train and I'll meet you here. We'll go out for tea [dinner]."

I was just familiar enough with Ballarat to drive myself to the train station, and always-up-for-adventure-me said, "Sure!" Melbourne is about 90 minutes away.

So I called and checked departure times, and drove myself there without mishap. Pretty proud of myself, I was.

I got into the queue [line] and ordered my ticket. The nice man at the counter asked me if I wanted concession.

I looked at him blankly, while my mind raced in order to answer him timely. I'd had a late brekky [breakfast]. I imagined paying a bit extra for soft drink or coffee, little bags of snacks such as pretzels or potato chips from someone wandering the aisles with a cart. So I looked at him, smiled, and said, "No thank you, I'll be fine until I get there."

The kind man looked at me, puzzled, then grinned as he handed me a ticket and wished me a safe and happy trip. He reminded me of Father Mulcahey on M*A*S*H.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that I learned "concession" doesn't mean a snack bar. It is Australia's term for someone who gets a discounted ticket, such as those on welfare, or *cough* the elderly. He wanted to know if I was eligible.

I can only imagine what went through that ticketmaster's mind! I told Steve; he laughed himself silly.

I was reminded of that when I read an article in this month's Outback magazine. I bought a subscription for Steve's birthday last year because he loves it, but I use it as a tool to understand this country and whet my appetite for exploring.

There is a feature, Yarn Spinner, about Sandy Thorne, a storyteller and bush poet. She is renowned Australia-wide for her humor in conveying the outback to others. She's even been on the David Letterman show.

Here is an excerpt...

"So you'd like to learn the lingo of the Aussies from the bush
Where men are tough as gidgee, far from the city push
Where the women muster blowflies in the blazing outback sun
And the children crack big mulga snakes like stockwhips, just for fun.
Where you ride all day to travel from one boundary to the next,
You'll find the dinkum Aussies, away out in the west."

"Now fair-dinkum means ridgy-didge, or genuine or true
And if you've made a big mistake, mate, you've made a blue
But if some mug bungs on a blue, he's tried to start a fight
He's a nong, a galah, a drongo...a ratbag all flamin' right!
--probably not the full quid--just nineteen `n' six up top
--mad as a bag of cut snakes, a few wallabies loose in his crop."

I understand it mateys, and here is my best translation as an American:

gidgee--a hardwood tree...pretty tough...like iron.
muster--round up, as in cattle.
blowflies--aka "blowies," big, heavy, pesky flies common anywhere but especially where it's hot and they gather by the hundreds, especially over meat. In some places around the world they are known as cadaver flies.
mulga--a dry, desert area, I think
traveling from one boundary to the next--cattle stations cover several hundreds of square miles and take a day or two to get across. Very common in the outback.
mug--fella who thinks he's big stuff
ninteen `n' six up top--You're on your own. I don't know.
mad as a bag of cut snakes--you can imagine.
wallabies--smallish version of kangaroo, considered rodents. They decimate crops.

This woman was also a jillaroo, a female version of a jackaroo...someone who helped drovers [cowboys] muster cattle and take them to another station or somewhere they could be sold as beef on the hoof, as we know it. In America, cattle drives would fit this bill. Although not as common in America anymore, it is still a thriving industry here.

"I loved it," Sandy is quoted as saying. "Once I proved to the men I could ride as well as them, and handle the rough conditions, I was accepted as an equal workmate--even though women were paid a lot less. It was a case of swags [sleeping blankets] on the ground, salt beef and spuds."

The article goes on to say that Sandy enjoyed secretly writing about it, over the dying embers of a campfire every night.

Here is an excerpt from her "jillarooing" days:

"We started at five on a long cattle drive
But on Sundays, slept till dawn
Working 'til dark, we'd dip brand and mark,
Never filled in a union [labor] form.
We ate beef that was tough, the cook was as rough
as his tucker [food] that churned in our guts
When hitting the booze, he's serve "mystery stews"
of onion peel, gristle and butts.
At night we lay fryin' in galvanized iron;
The frogs that resided, quite often collided
with snakes, in a screaming refrain."

Here's to Australian lingo, and American lingo...vive le differance!