Dear Beatrice- Have spent the day in happy woolgathering,along a lazy river, shady and tinged a Horse – Slobber green in hue. The dusty little shops hear abouts, sell mostly dog-log, beer, and odd square, waxy paper to use in the Loo.
Also one can dine on tinned spaghetti and baked beans, to my delight are the many lovely flavors of ice-cream…hoped to load a tub of it with berries I had picked fresh and sweet.
But I fled in horror from the grocery store tonight, , kilt hoisted high I legged it down the frozen aisle and soon was out of sight. For instead of Tip-Top Boysenberries in my treats there were BEETS! , Beet chunks and swirls, nearly gave me the dry hurls, of all things in ice-cream there were beets. but it is new day and all well now.
LIVE HARD LIVE YOUR DREAM, was tattooed boldly on the arm of my new boss Maree, owner of this farm. I answered an ad for a horseman wanted here, I tend stock and mend harness in the beautiful valley, Winneleah. Considered “hardcase” is Maree, but she really would rather live beyond the bounds of society. On cold winters days in the barn round the stove, she told me stories as I sewed. I shared with her some of mine, Iv’e now been four years on the road. Yesterday there was a Tiger Snake coiled up in the Loo, Maree came in and shot it, guess down here its what they do.
Maree also painted pictures, and she drew. On a whim I traded my old Bagpipes, to a chap in the pub for his guitar. I am picking out the poetry he left inside, this old guitar, as Melbourne bound I wait on the highway for a ride. Down in the big city with a few days to wait, for my ship to Tasmania across the stormy strait.
I am sitting alone down on the harborside, thinking of an old couple this morning on the tram-ride. Country folk they seemed, this elderly lady and man, delighting in there time together , I watched as he lifted her gently onto the train, they rode in their private world, then he lifted her off, I watched them laughing walking off hand in hand again.
..There is every morning free breakfast where I stay- boiled egg and bun on a plastic tray. Second day an egg, no bun. Yesterday bun, no boiled egg, today egg and bun, no plastic tray. Time to catch that ship and be on my way.
Yes I’m wearing my cold -weather- kilt, and ugly knit scarf for the sea air. As is my habit, woolgathering In the foggy cold night air…please share with Ma, (and Arthur) this letter with the stamp placed on askew, so let them know that all is well with me…Happy Days Ahead – Thank you, Thank you from Godfrey.
AND HIS 6TH WISDOM STATES- FRESH WILD BERRIES PICKED THAT DAY ALONG THE RIVER, ON ICE-CREAM MAKES THE FINEST DINNER- PLEASE DO NOT PUT HORRIBLE THINGS IN A FELLOWS ICE-CREAM. (this story is for Anthony Patrick Eugene Theriault)