Its been almost 23 years since my father died. I mark the date with curiosity rather than mourning – my father and I were not close. He was a hard working shearer with a fondness for the drink and some of the associated habits that go with it.

At the end of his rather brief life ( he was 62 when he died)  the booze had destroyed his short term memory. I remember him now as a bloke, like many of his generation, who did the best they could with the cards life had dealt them.

I never really knew what made him as he was. It wasn’t something you talked about with your parents. Not their dreams, not their fears, not their disappointments. I started thinking about him as I hammered down the Winton – Boulia Rd in a hired four wheel drive. Western Queensland, outback, big sky, tough arsed country that made me think of Henry Lawson.

Then, out of the blue there is a pub – nothing surrounding apart from some old out buildings  – it’s Middleton’s Hotel – apparently 130 years old and  looking  everyday of it. On the day I stopped a young woman was playing with a young girl on the front verandah.  I assumed  it was  mother and daughter.

Stumble from the sunlight to the darkness, turn to your left  and you are in a small – battered bar,  turn right  and you are in what passes for the family dining and lounge room. You can imagine Henry  Lawson’s shearers stopping there to cash their cheques and drinking until nothing was left but a rum induced hangover and facing  the walk with swag to the next shed .

Now, the spirit bottles have barely a nip in them so you guess the turn over is not high. There is an older woman behind the bar – maybe the mother- in no hurry to either talk or serve. She says they have been there for ten years and love it. It makes you wonder what her story is – but instead of asking you buy a cup of instant coffee and a  fridge magnet before leaving. Speculating on her life is probably more interesting than the real reasons. Besides, I have my father to understand. The mythology and romanticism of Henry Lawson stalks you in these places.

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