My youngest sister was born in December 1955,
a month before the January floods.
The local river flooded the sheep station
where Dad worked, so many sheep were lost.
We had to leave our low-built house
and move to the big wool-shed,
built much higher from the ground.
The workmen built a raft
from wooden planks and kerosene drums,
which ferried us older children to the wool-shed.
Baby Susie was carried there by Dad
along the railway track -
Mum must have feared for her,
but Dad brought her safely to the shed,
where she was laid in a wheelbarrow,
that had been lined with pillows,
and furbished with soft rugs.
The rest of us youngsters
slept on a pile of wool bales,
after a lurking snake had been killed.
I used to sit on the wool-shed steps,
watching the snakes float by in the flood waters,
dozens of them, brown and black, some red-bellied.
We were there a week.
Somehow meals were produced,
and somehow nobody fell into the water.
Of course Susie remembered nothing,
but years later we told her all about it.
Copyright © Beth Evans | Year Posted 2019