Driving around the Corryong district we can’t stop reminiscing of the times when we used to come up here to visit a farming mate, way back in the Seventies.
I make an appointment at the hospital medical centre to have some stitches removed from my leg and I’m greeted by a cheery nurse who suggests that leg stitches should be kept in as long as possible as there the wound is more likely to be ‘stretched’. About to lurch into a tourism spiel (these locals are well versed) she asks if we’re familiar with the area. When I say that we used to visit a friend’s farm here many, many years ago she asks his name and when I tell her she tells me that she nursed our friend when he was dying. I gratefully clutch her arm with tears in my eyes and notice her name badge. She married into one of the families that we used to visit with our mate. She is grateful that we’re remembering him and I’m so grateful to have met someone who cared for our friend.