My good neighbor Allan Ross died recently and of course I attended his funeral.
It is always sad to witness the passing of out elder citizens and Allan was a good Christian citizen who contributed throughout his life. Sad as I was at his passing, something else saddened me. You see Allan was a Returned Serviceman and old soldiers - that tern encompasses all the services - pay homage to their fellow by placing a red poppy on his casket. A fitting thing to to. But these old soldiers, among them Hugh Muldrew and Phil Wilkie, are just that - old. Each one sore within his frame, bent and slow. These were the guys who carried us through the war years! Strong, fit and brave - even if they were scared! There is no immunity to old age.
Of course you don't get to know all about a person until you hear the eulogies from those dear to him and I was impressed that during his final years, he learned Spanish to ward off a staling of mind - he thought that if he could not be fit in body, he could be in mind.
I fist met Allan late 1965 when I ran over one of his sheepdogs! I was chugging down Mt Misery Road in the old Commer truck and the dog had slipped his chain and lay waiting for me in the shelter of the sheep yards. On my approach he charged out and simply went under a wheel. There was that sickening bump.
Allan's house was nearby and I went there to find him having a cup of tea. He showed no ill toward me, though he regretted the loss of a good working dog.
A while after I had bought my small farm, Allan inherited the block next door and across the river. This was old Billy Sharpe's place. He had died and his wife Francis lived on there until she passed away with Allan managing the farm and looking after her. She was born in that house!
The fences were not too good and Allan's stock strayed on to my place but we never had words and from time to time he would donate me a few bales of hay to compensate for any losses. His son Peter took over the farm when Allan retired and he was no different to Allan.
Allan had some rough gorse covered southerly faces on his farm and over the years I planted them up for him with P. radiata. Most is now harvested but on block in particular was difficult to establish and as a fundraiser for the North Otago Women's Hockey, I supervised them in hand releasing the trees (cutting the gorse for smothering the trees) - I have managed unskilled labour before but this was something else.
Rest Allan, you have earned the right to it with honor.
It is always sad to witness the passing of out elder citizens and Allan was a good Christian citizen who contributed throughout his life. Sad as I was at his passing, something else saddened me. You see Allan was a Returned Serviceman and old soldiers - that tern encompasses all the services - pay homage to their fellow by placing a red poppy on his casket. A fitting thing to to. But these old soldiers, among them Hugh Muldrew and Phil Wilkie, are just that - old. Each one sore within his frame, bent and slow. These were the guys who carried us through the war years! Strong, fit and brave - even if they were scared! There is no immunity to old age.
Of course you don't get to know all about a person until you hear the eulogies from those dear to him and I was impressed that during his final years, he learned Spanish to ward off a staling of mind - he thought that if he could not be fit in body, he could be in mind.
I fist met Allan late 1965 when I ran over one of his sheepdogs! I was chugging down Mt Misery Road in the old Commer truck and the dog had slipped his chain and lay waiting for me in the shelter of the sheep yards. On my approach he charged out and simply went under a wheel. There was that sickening bump.
Allan's house was nearby and I went there to find him having a cup of tea. He showed no ill toward me, though he regretted the loss of a good working dog.
A while after I had bought my small farm, Allan inherited the block next door and across the river. This was old Billy Sharpe's place. He had died and his wife Francis lived on there until she passed away with Allan managing the farm and looking after her. She was born in that house!
The fences were not too good and Allan's stock strayed on to my place but we never had words and from time to time he would donate me a few bales of hay to compensate for any losses. His son Peter took over the farm when Allan retired and he was no different to Allan.
Allan had some rough gorse covered southerly faces on his farm and over the years I planted them up for him with P. radiata. Most is now harvested but on block in particular was difficult to establish and as a fundraiser for the North Otago Women's Hockey, I supervised them in hand releasing the trees (cutting the gorse for smothering the trees) - I have managed unskilled labour before but this was something else.
Rest Allan, you have earned the right to it with honor.
