Sam Irvine for Dad

In 1937, driving a Ford V8, Dad got stuck on the notorious North Road to Nullagine. Not that it could be called a road, ad it was a sandy, gravelly kind of nightmare inthe middle of stock route 9700 with a well about every 25 kilometres if one was lucky. There was also a major drought on, so there were no drovers shifting stock at the time. Ahead somewhere was the Meekatharra mailman, Sam irvine, and Dad knew it would be at least six days before he could expect irvine's return. Henearly brought! No food, and worst of all, vey little water. I wrote this poem of that time and included it in his biography that I am curently writing
DAD

With pharmaceutical cases packed to the door
Dad set off with his foot to the floor,
All the way up to Nullagine.
Ahead was the mailman, Sam Irvine.

1937, the track not the best,
His flat tires stuffed with spinifex.
As he travelled forth to Nullagine,
Behind the mailman, Sam Irvine.

The sand was soft with hidden rock,
He hit one with a bang with sudden shock.
On the deplorable track to Nullagine,
Thinking of the mailman, Sam Irvine

He was on Route 9700,
And wasn't feeling much like a hero,
Wheels down in the sand in the fierce sunshine,
Hoping for the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Because of the fierceness of Big Drought,
No way of getting any stock out,
Lonely on the track to Nullagine,
Needing the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Drought reigned so fiercely supreme.
Rain he did see only in a dream,
Sleeping on the track to Nullagine,
Waiting for the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Not far away reared Battle Hill,
No hope for help or anything, but still
He was stuck on the track to Nullagine,
Lagging behind the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Three oranges for moisture, and even they lag,
Behind his nearly-empty water bag.
Was this a message from the Divine?
Praying for the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Would Sao biscuits and sardines fill
An empty tummy without any swill?
Starving and thirsty on the stock-line
Waiting for the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Dad drank water from the radiator,
Daily feeling less a winning gladiator.
Broken down on the track to Nullagine,
Listening for the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Radiator water was almost done,
And Dad was frying in the sun.
Thirsty on the track to Nullagine,
Desperate for the mailman, Sam Irvine.

The dust drifts past in dizzy swirls,
The heats so fierce that leather curls,
Sweltering on the track to Nullagine,
Wishing for the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Roaring of engine and empty drums banging,
Shovels and swinging tow-ropes clanging.
Dancing on the track in the fierce sunshine.
Hearing the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Sam's big load couldn't really get higher,
Tied on with rope and fencing wire.
Standing on the track to Nullagine
Greeting the mailman, Sam Irvine.

Sam dug out wheels, fixed the axle too.
Poor old Dad learnt something new,
For driving on the track to Nullagine,
Preparing like the mailman, Sam Irvine

This was in 1937, by gum!
I wasn't born until 1941.
I give thanks of feelings purely sublime
For that intrepid mailman, Sam Irvine.