End of an Era

Gone is the corned beef and damper
The camp oven rusted and bent
Gone is the mobs down the Canning
And the sound of a nightwatch lament

Gone is the stockhorse and saddle
The packs that are now in decay
Gone is the neck strap an’ bridle
And the water bags rotted away

Gone too, are the camps an’ the crossin’s
The need for a government well
Gone is the horse plant an’ hobble
And the peal of the Condamine bell

Gone like the green grass in summer
The dusty pads wearin’ no more
Gone is the mist of the morning
Swept away with the choppers roar

Gone is the sense of achievement
From deliverin’ a mob far and near
And gone is the packhorse stockmen
The end of an era is here

© Neville W Tickner 2003
(From book 3 of the trilogy 'Last of the Packhorse Stockmen')