Hello Young Carey

"Hello Young Carey," came the familiar voice one morning earlier this week. I was tying the dogs up at the post office/ newsangecy.

It was my friend Harry, coming out the door. We met 'on the walk' years ago. A friendship grew. Harry, about twenty years my senior, calls me 'young' Carey. I like that.

"The papers are late," he said, as he walked out the door.

I untied dogs and picked up my bag pack and some local papers that stand outside. It must have been Wednesday morning. "Hang on Harry, I'll walk with you," I said, wrestling with my raincoat and backpack.

As we walked up  Main St. I told Harry I'd had a ripper weekend, I went to Wangaratta, and a Greta Football Club 30 year reunion of their 1980 premiership. It was great to see my old footy mates I explained, some of whom I hadn't seen for 30 years. As soon as I saw them, I recognized them as if no time had passed and we talked as if  time stood still.

"You'd know all about it Harry, having all those reunions with your Club 52*."

"Yes it's a great thing. Sadly many of them have passed away."

We stopped when we reached Le Soueff Rd, where Harry lives, and talked a few minutes more. We looked out over the countryside toward the Warburton ranges in the distance, still visible through the patchy mist.

"No matter how beautiful the world is Harry, and how wonderful are the trees and birds, the clouds and the rain, it's great because we share it with people. You wouldn't want to be on this earth the only human being."

"That's for sure, " said Harry.

"Have you got much on today?"

"I'm going out to the airport later to pick up my daughter coming from Cairns. She's going to a 50th birthday party next Saturday and is having a week with us. Before that I'll sit and listen to some music."

"Good on you Harry. Have a good week," I said, continuing down the hill. "I'm going on holiday for a week on Sunday,  I'll see you in a couple of weeks if I don't see you again before I go."

"You too, Carey. Have a good holiday."

Harry died in his sleep on Friday night. I learned this Saturday morning when I went into the PO/newsagency to pick up my Weekend Australian. He was 78. He worked his acre garden growing vegies and fruit and walked every morning. He was fit for his age and health conscious. Goodbye Harry. I'll miss you. I don't think I'll ever walk past Le Soueff Rd without thinking of you.

* I posted about Harry's Club 52 back in..."Happy Solstice Harry' 21 June 2006.