Under the Willow Tree

Behind Naseby Township as evening fell, young Henry and his Dad stepped off the walking track to rest under an ancient willow tree. Dad reached into his pack and pulled out a scroggin mixture he liked to chew on whenever he was out walking. Henry picked through it for the chocolate pieces and scrummaged for the half pieces of cashew nuts.

Although there was no wind, the tussocks around them waved as if in a breeze and the leaves in the willow tree rustled, as if greeting each other.

‘Did you hear that?’ Henry asked.

‘Did you hear it too?’ Dad replied.

There it was again, softly. They were completely alone in the rarified, still country air.

‘There it is again.’ Henry had little goosebumps on his arms.

‘Listen to it Henry,’ Dad advised, ‘it is a rare and wonderful sound.’

The humming continued softly, pleasantly mingling with other background sounds, their breathing, the rustle of leaves, and the slight tussock movement. 

‘You remember me telling you Henry,’ Dad began, ‘there was a time when this area teemed with goldminers.’

‘Yes I recall.’ Replied the boy.

‘Well times were rough,’ continued Dad, ‘some people found gold and others did not. Many of those who found gold lost it again through foolishness, gambling, or were robbed - even killed.

‘Men from all corners of the world came to seek their fortune and many were picked on because of the colour of their skin or because they spoke differently. Some drunks one night put a Chinese man into a barrel and bowled it down the hill, the poor man was found dead in the morning still in the barrel at the bottom of the hill.’

‘Really?’ Asked Henry, incredulous.

‘Yes, he was.’ Dad replied, and he continued. ‘There were no police or doctors or anything like we have today so if people had accidents, they might have died. Some even died of the cold!

‘Tom Le Breton arrived with his little girl just before there was an outbreak of smallpox. He was no doctor and he had come to find gold, but he knew the rudiments of doctoring and had some medical books.’

‘What about Tom’s wife?’ Henry wanted to know.

‘Nobody knew, or remembers.’ Replied Dad. ‘Tom could sew up wounds, pull bad teeth and lance boils. He could make coffins, if there was timber, or otherwise he would do his best to bury the dead with dignity. He knew the value of cleanliness and how to use local plants for remedies, but when the smallpox started, he had no cure.

‘When old Max the German was killed in a rock fall, the miners decided to give his tent to Tom as a sort of an infirmary to tend the men who were dying from smallpox. There was not much he could do for them, but give them soft bedding and sponge them to keep the fever down.

‘Tom’s little girl.’ Dad began.

‘What was her name?’ Henry interrupted, wanting to know.

‘Nobody knew.’ Answered Dad. ‘But they called her Hummingbird. She helped with the care of the sick, sponging them down, looking positive and all the time humming to them, just softly. Her little acts of mercy endeared her to all the miners, and some of them stayed close to the infirmary tent just to hear her humming.

‘She accepted the death of the patients, not crying but covering the dead man’s face and continuing to hum her little tune.

‘Tom knew it was inevitable, because smallpox is so contagious. He had taught the miners about cleanliness, and not sharing things and keeping apart. Those lessons would see the end of the outbreak.

‘But Hummingbird died. She caught the disease and they buried her in a wooden coffin marking the corners of her grave with stones, four of them.’

Henry felt sad and had a tear in his eye.

‘Tom was heartbroken,’ continued Dad, ‘and perhaps that is why he too died just three weeks to the day after the little girl.

‘The miners buried Tom beside his daughter and marked his grave the same way, with a stone at each corner. One of the miners fashioned a cross from a green willow branch and planted it between the graves.

‘Some say that a willow tree grew from that very branch.’

The pair stood up, and Dad brushed away some of the dead willow leaves from where they had been sitting.  And they found eight stones, marking two oblongs.

Nothing was said.

The next day Henry fashioned a sign and took it back to the tree. Tongue out in concentration he nailed the sign to the tree.

The sign read, Hummingbird Tree.

He stood back and admired his handiwork.

‘Hum on little Hummingbird.’ He said and bowed his head respectfully.