The Day Mum Lost The Ute (a true tale)

         
Poem          

[a true tale] THE DAY MUM LOST THE UTE

Out west of The Great Divide,
where the summer's dry and hot.
Where the Wiradjurie did reside,
and where my dear mother's from.

The Cudgegong River soothes its' way,
as old Mount Frome looks on.
He shakes a shiver they say for the day,
he watched this story unfold.

For true witness is old Frome,
to all local hardship and fray.
He's seen the squatters come and go,
their tell tale dust from miles away.

Near a place known as 'where the heck's Lue',
Enid and Percival Ladmore sat.
In their cottage with no electricity,
near Mudgee in breedy Burrundulla Flats.

For hours their daughter to visit was driving,
in the old E.H Holden Ute.
She had her two boys, 4 and 2 beside her,
the third lay in wait engrossing her womb.

And Trixie was there, that was mum's little dog,
she'd come along for to visit.
Enid and Percy on the River Cudgegong,
where the mountains stand guard exquisite.

Mum knew quite well of a shortcut,
to skirt there,save 15 miles.
Greg had just had his tonsils out,
the heat of the west took it's toll on the drive.

So mum turned east before Mudgee,
and old Mount Frome saw them take that road.
Aware of the river in flood...he,
could only be witness, he could only hope.

As they drove over the 'Sheepwash Crossing',
'tis named Rocky Water Holes.
The water was brown,churning and tossing,
the old Ute stalled then the torrent took hold.

And to think, mother swam there aloft,
as a teenager in those holes.
Just down river of that 'Sheepwash',
where the water bumps and bowls.

There though, now, she was begged by the same,
as the lives of her children flashed through her.
Old friend demanding let me be thy grave,
pulling and pleading to sleep in thy water.

Moments...less, who can say,
fear forced the car door open.
Desperate grabbed 4,2, in age,
by the scruff of their clothes they were stolen.

The Cudgegong River shoved and pushed,
mum tightly held on to those clothes.
The violent pounding, still it stood,
in the heart of mighty Mount Frome.

As witness there the old man took,
to my mum save her sons.
A woman with child, barely 5 foot,
overcoming the wrath of the Cudgegong.

Why, then, they didn't all drown,
is a miracle worth wondering.
the water took the old Ute down,
my dad found it months later diving.

But the River couldn't fight my mum,
old Frome saw it try in vain.
Out of that angry muck she swum,
determined to halt its' greedy claim.

She threw on its' banks, a child, then another,
and struggled up the mud.
To see a man, a local farmer,
running to help if he could.

The farmer then to the Ladmores',
they arrived shaken, wet but safe.
Little Trixie went down in the roar,
and mum's never been the same.

'Twas October when the flood claimed the Ute,
and the baby was due in March.
But Jeffery was born months too soon,
and he died in his fathers arms.

So old Frome saw the Cudgegong,
try and take those lives that day.
The river grasses sing a song,
for Trixie the dog and Jeffery the babe.

Since a girl of this tale I've known,
and my mum still cries for Jeffery.
As he did not live, I was born,
to portray this ,and to journey.

Enid and Percy are since passed on,
we don't often visit Mudgee.
But the waters of the Cudgegong,
are a bloodline of our family.

My mum and dad met there as kids,
they're not together now.
The Ute they dragged up by a winch,
on the tree that they then found.

They say that my dad was keen,
to push the Ute back in its' tomb.
Seeing Trixie and the scene,
what could've been,too much to consume.

Mum a tower like old Frome,
she went about her day.
Never crosses water but she's strong,
strong enough to push rivers away.

This is the almighty power,
that my tiny mum has.
She hides it usually somehow,
beneath her genuine stature.

Why Frome himself should watch his step,
while my mum's on this earth.
He's limestone rock but a mere speck,
for my mum after childbirth!

Meriki Parkinson