The Daisy Chain
"Take away our love and the Earth is our tomb"
Robert Browning
The Daisy Chain
A bouquet of daisies were grasped in Alice’s withered hand. A hand that was decorated with nought but a tired worn wedding ring and the intertwined fingers of Burt. He was her beloved husband of eighty years.
They had put on their very best Sunday clothes and set out to journey together into a shared past.
First Daisy
They laid a daisy at the step of the Sunday school hall which still stood after all this time. Burt smiled as he remembered how he had travelled for four hours from his farm to attend the Spring Fling Dance. He spent an hour watching his mates dance with girl after girl.
He was just about to give up and start for home when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up to see a girl made of sunshine and peaches with dancing cornflower blue eyes, “Hello, Handsome are you going to spend the night holding up that wall or are you going to give me a turn of the dance floor?”
He shrugged. His tongue was tied in knots as he stared at the face of this lovely girl. He had only spoken to grown married women or little girls before. This devine creature was a terrifying new development. He wanted to talk, but only meaningless grunts had come out. She looked at his blushed face with understanding, “You don’t know how to dance do you?” He shook his head silently. She then took him by his strong calloused hand and let him outside beneath the gum tree.
There, under the bright stars of the bush sky, she withstood his clumsy feet. Together they waltzed to the music of the wind brushing the gum leaves. He knew that he would spend his life dancing with her. He bent his head and kissed her strawberry lips nervously. During this kiss there was electricity and passion that was conveyed in their warm ragged breaths. They were both awestruck as they felt the force of destiny bind them together, forever.
Second Daisy
The second flower was laid at Hills' Machine Works where Alice had worked as a quality controller during World War Two. Burt had come home in his uniform. He was adorned with emu plumes on his slouched hat. He shakily told his new bride that the time had come for him to serve his country. Alice's heart had simultanously swollen with pride and shattered with worry.
After she had packed his lunch, Alice walked hand in hand with her husband to the train station. During the whole journey she held back her unworthy tears. They then embraced on the platform and kissed with tear drenched lips. They tasted each other’s soul. That last kiss was to carry them through the four long years to come.
Alice volunteered at Hills' Machine Works the very next day. From the moment it opened to the second they shut the iron gates, she had worked without pause. She barely spoke to her co-workers. As soon as the starting whistle blew Alice would be standing there ready to go. She was always the last worker to leave and she almost never took a break.
Alice would crawl home at the end of each day, check her letter box to see if Burt had written and then collapse into their marriage bed. Never once did she stray from her side of the bed. She left that part of the bed for her husband to return to.
One of the ladies, Molly Tanner, said to her, “For Pete’s sake Alice drink a cuppa, you’re making the rest of us look bad.” The large lady looked at the young Alice with an expression that conveyed her sympathy and concern. Molly held out the chipped cup full of luke warm tea.
Alice glanced quickly at the older woman with tears in her eyes and replied, “What if I have a cup of tea and there is one less box of bullets made, or a bad bullet gets through and it blows up in the face of the soldier? What if my Burt is facing the enemy without a working bullet and dies? This is all I can do to help him and while there is breath in my body, I will make bullets. I will check each and every one. I will, I swear to God, ensure that not one of my bullets will fail my husband or your's”
Molly then tipped the tea out. She put the cup down on a nearby bench and put her hands on her hips. Then she said, “Well, let’s get back to it and stop wasting time flapping our gums.”
After that day Molly had stood beside Alice as they skipped breaks and worked their fingers to the bone to make bullets. Neither woman complained or stopped until the peace had been declared. Alice today laid a daisy at Hills and whispered, “For you Molly.”
Burt did not know who Molly was but he had never pushed Alice to tell him everything and he wasn’t about to start now.
Third Daisy
Next the pair went to the town cemetary. Burt laid a daisy on Michael’s grave. Their little boy was born after the war. Sadly, he was born with muscular dystrophy. The little one’s body grew into a twisted pretzel with shortened limp limbs. The doctors said Michael would not live much past ten and true to their prediction, the child didn’t.
Day after day Burt had rubbed the liniment oil in to the weeping boy’s body as Michael grimaced and cried out in agony. Burt would hold back his own emotional pain to tell little Mike of bushrangers, Banjo Patterson poems and tall tales. He would talk and talk to help distract his poor son from the torture his father was forced to inflict.
Burt knew that hurting the lad, even in the name of helping him, was too much to ask of his darling wife. As much as it broke his heart, Burt was always the one to treat their little twisted boy. Except for these horrific healing sessions the lad was a child who was light of heart. Michael was a joy who would clap and nod to the tinny music of the radiogram and listen to the cricket with his Dad. He would rock backward and forward with excitement as he followed the action of the latest 'Ashes' match, cheering the Australian Cricket Team on to victory.
Burt did not know how he would survive when The Lord took his boy. The day after Michael's funeral Burt tore through the house in a manic fury. He gathered every bottle of oil. Each one of them represented hours of pain that he and Michael had shared. He took the oils outside and burned them in the back yard. He watched the blue flames on his knees as he craddled his weeping face in his strong hands.
He did not know how he could ever love life again. Every time his grief became unbearable his wonderful wife was there with a cup of tea. She would silently place her hand on his while he drank. They never talked about Michael because they never able to. The English language was far too clumsy and shallow to express the dark shroud that enveloped their hearts.
They would just listen to the 'Ashes' cricket matches together on the radiogram and remember their little lost boy. During each match they stared at the spot on the floor where Michael used to sit as he rocked backward and forward.
Fourth Daisy
They walked up the hill to their daughter's house. Sandra’s house was its usual noisy chaotic self. Sandra was a grandmother herself now, several times over in fact. Children ran around the yard. They hung out of the windows. They raided the biscuit barrel and chattered like psychotic birds. Each child dirty, wild and happy. Some of the little ones were Sandra’s grandkids and others were just neighbourhood strays. The children were drawn to her pragmatic warmth and prolific baking.
Burt and Alice entered the house. Sandra called out over the genral hubbub, “Mum, Dad, you walked all the way here! Crickey, sit down and I will get you some tea and ginger snaps, they're just finished baking."
Just then a little scamp romped through the house nearly knocking Burt and Alice over. Sandra yelled at her grandson, " Robert you bloody little imp, don’t rush past your Great Grandparents- honestly boy!” Alice and Burt sat down at the chipped laminated table and waited for Sandra to join them.
Sandra offered them both tea and ginger snap. Instead of replying, Alice reached out her aged hand and stroked her daughter's cheek, “You are my perfect daughter and your father and I are so proud of you. Never forget that you are our princess.”
Sandra stared in bewilderment at her ancient parents. She did not know what prompted their visit but her Mother's words reminded her of the long life she had shared with them. Sandra rose and held them tight whispering, “I love you both, all I am, all that my children and my grandchildren are is because of you both.” Once they finished their afternoon tea, Alice and Burt departed. They left a daisy on Sandra’s doorstep.
Burt turned to his wife and grinned as he said, "We did good with her didn't we?" Alice nodded and placed her head on his sholder.
Fifth Daisy
Burt climbed into his pride and joy, his blue Kingswood car. Alice was already sitting in it and they drove off into the setting sun. After an hour and a half they came to Murray’s Creek. They sat beneath the Scribbly Gum tree where they used to camp with Sandra. Their little family came here every holiday when their Sandy was a little firecracker girl.
They talked of how bold little Sandy was and how she always wanted to be in the water. Alice laughed at the time she spent a whole hour hooking what she thought was a big fish only to discover she caught an old gumboot.
Sandy suggested putting the boot on the campfire for dinner. Instead however, her Dad chased her around with the stinky thing for half the afternoon. Little Sandy had screamed, laughed and squealed till all their ears had hurt.
Burt chuckled as he recalled how he and Sandra would swing like monkeys from an old rope. He told of how they would launch themselves into the water while making Tarzan sounds. Alice and Burt laid a daisy beneath the dappled shade of their beloved Scribbly Gum with a photo of their freckle faced and dimpled daughter, Sandra.
The Last Daisies
As night fell the ancient pair drove into the driveway of their little brick home. This house had seen over eighty Christmas mornings, hundreds of birthday parties and it was where Sandra had dressed on her wedding day.
This place had sheltered them, hid their tears, and soaked up their laughs. Alice and Burt walked through each room and laid a daisy. Finally they went out to the garage and sat in the Kingswood.
“Burt, are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Alice asked as she looked at her love through her cataract covered pale eyes.
Burt replied, “Honey, I am a hundred years of age and you are ninety-eight. Soon one of us will die and the other will be left behind. I will not live without you and we cannot live apart. We will go out together. Whatever awaits us, we will walk into it- hand in hand."
Burt and Alice had one last kiss. He turned on the ignition and together they deeply breathed in the carbon monoxide fumes. They held each other tight and said goodbye to a wonderful life.
By A.Sims
Please click Home to check out some more great features of this site!
This story is a work of fiction but the inspiration lies in fact. Years ago I read a newspaper article about this couple who were were 100 and ninety eight and chose to commit suicide because they could not stand the thought of being separated. Now over a decade later I dedicate 'The Daisy Chain' to this ancient lovely couple who lived life long before I started mine.
Robert Browning
The Daisy Chain
A bouquet of daisies were grasped in Alice’s withered hand. A hand that was decorated with nought but a tired worn wedding ring and the intertwined fingers of Burt. He was her beloved husband of eighty years.
They had put on their very best Sunday clothes and set out to journey together into a shared past.
First Daisy
They laid a daisy at the step of the Sunday school hall which still stood after all this time. Burt smiled as he remembered how he had travelled for four hours from his farm to attend the Spring Fling Dance. He spent an hour watching his mates dance with girl after girl.
He was just about to give up and start for home when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up to see a girl made of sunshine and peaches with dancing cornflower blue eyes, “Hello, Handsome are you going to spend the night holding up that wall or are you going to give me a turn of the dance floor?”
He shrugged. His tongue was tied in knots as he stared at the face of this lovely girl. He had only spoken to grown married women or little girls before. This devine creature was a terrifying new development. He wanted to talk, but only meaningless grunts had come out. She looked at his blushed face with understanding, “You don’t know how to dance do you?” He shook his head silently. She then took him by his strong calloused hand and let him outside beneath the gum tree.
There, under the bright stars of the bush sky, she withstood his clumsy feet. Together they waltzed to the music of the wind brushing the gum leaves. He knew that he would spend his life dancing with her. He bent his head and kissed her strawberry lips nervously. During this kiss there was electricity and passion that was conveyed in their warm ragged breaths. They were both awestruck as they felt the force of destiny bind them together, forever.
Second Daisy
The second flower was laid at Hills' Machine Works where Alice had worked as a quality controller during World War Two. Burt had come home in his uniform. He was adorned with emu plumes on his slouched hat. He shakily told his new bride that the time had come for him to serve his country. Alice's heart had simultanously swollen with pride and shattered with worry.
After she had packed his lunch, Alice walked hand in hand with her husband to the train station. During the whole journey she held back her unworthy tears. They then embraced on the platform and kissed with tear drenched lips. They tasted each other’s soul. That last kiss was to carry them through the four long years to come.
Alice volunteered at Hills' Machine Works the very next day. From the moment it opened to the second they shut the iron gates, she had worked without pause. She barely spoke to her co-workers. As soon as the starting whistle blew Alice would be standing there ready to go. She was always the last worker to leave and she almost never took a break.
Alice would crawl home at the end of each day, check her letter box to see if Burt had written and then collapse into their marriage bed. Never once did she stray from her side of the bed. She left that part of the bed for her husband to return to.
One of the ladies, Molly Tanner, said to her, “For Pete’s sake Alice drink a cuppa, you’re making the rest of us look bad.” The large lady looked at the young Alice with an expression that conveyed her sympathy and concern. Molly held out the chipped cup full of luke warm tea.
Alice glanced quickly at the older woman with tears in her eyes and replied, “What if I have a cup of tea and there is one less box of bullets made, or a bad bullet gets through and it blows up in the face of the soldier? What if my Burt is facing the enemy without a working bullet and dies? This is all I can do to help him and while there is breath in my body, I will make bullets. I will check each and every one. I will, I swear to God, ensure that not one of my bullets will fail my husband or your's”
Molly then tipped the tea out. She put the cup down on a nearby bench and put her hands on her hips. Then she said, “Well, let’s get back to it and stop wasting time flapping our gums.”
After that day Molly had stood beside Alice as they skipped breaks and worked their fingers to the bone to make bullets. Neither woman complained or stopped until the peace had been declared. Alice today laid a daisy at Hills and whispered, “For you Molly.”
Burt did not know who Molly was but he had never pushed Alice to tell him everything and he wasn’t about to start now.
Third Daisy
Next the pair went to the town cemetary. Burt laid a daisy on Michael’s grave. Their little boy was born after the war. Sadly, he was born with muscular dystrophy. The little one’s body grew into a twisted pretzel with shortened limp limbs. The doctors said Michael would not live much past ten and true to their prediction, the child didn’t.
Day after day Burt had rubbed the liniment oil in to the weeping boy’s body as Michael grimaced and cried out in agony. Burt would hold back his own emotional pain to tell little Mike of bushrangers, Banjo Patterson poems and tall tales. He would talk and talk to help distract his poor son from the torture his father was forced to inflict.
Burt knew that hurting the lad, even in the name of helping him, was too much to ask of his darling wife. As much as it broke his heart, Burt was always the one to treat their little twisted boy. Except for these horrific healing sessions the lad was a child who was light of heart. Michael was a joy who would clap and nod to the tinny music of the radiogram and listen to the cricket with his Dad. He would rock backward and forward with excitement as he followed the action of the latest 'Ashes' match, cheering the Australian Cricket Team on to victory.
Burt did not know how he would survive when The Lord took his boy. The day after Michael's funeral Burt tore through the house in a manic fury. He gathered every bottle of oil. Each one of them represented hours of pain that he and Michael had shared. He took the oils outside and burned them in the back yard. He watched the blue flames on his knees as he craddled his weeping face in his strong hands.
He did not know how he could ever love life again. Every time his grief became unbearable his wonderful wife was there with a cup of tea. She would silently place her hand on his while he drank. They never talked about Michael because they never able to. The English language was far too clumsy and shallow to express the dark shroud that enveloped their hearts.
They would just listen to the 'Ashes' cricket matches together on the radiogram and remember their little lost boy. During each match they stared at the spot on the floor where Michael used to sit as he rocked backward and forward.
Fourth Daisy
They walked up the hill to their daughter's house. Sandra’s house was its usual noisy chaotic self. Sandra was a grandmother herself now, several times over in fact. Children ran around the yard. They hung out of the windows. They raided the biscuit barrel and chattered like psychotic birds. Each child dirty, wild and happy. Some of the little ones were Sandra’s grandkids and others were just neighbourhood strays. The children were drawn to her pragmatic warmth and prolific baking.
Burt and Alice entered the house. Sandra called out over the genral hubbub, “Mum, Dad, you walked all the way here! Crickey, sit down and I will get you some tea and ginger snaps, they're just finished baking."
Just then a little scamp romped through the house nearly knocking Burt and Alice over. Sandra yelled at her grandson, " Robert you bloody little imp, don’t rush past your Great Grandparents- honestly boy!” Alice and Burt sat down at the chipped laminated table and waited for Sandra to join them.
Sandra offered them both tea and ginger snap. Instead of replying, Alice reached out her aged hand and stroked her daughter's cheek, “You are my perfect daughter and your father and I are so proud of you. Never forget that you are our princess.”
Sandra stared in bewilderment at her ancient parents. She did not know what prompted their visit but her Mother's words reminded her of the long life she had shared with them. Sandra rose and held them tight whispering, “I love you both, all I am, all that my children and my grandchildren are is because of you both.” Once they finished their afternoon tea, Alice and Burt departed. They left a daisy on Sandra’s doorstep.
Burt turned to his wife and grinned as he said, "We did good with her didn't we?" Alice nodded and placed her head on his sholder.
Fifth Daisy
Burt climbed into his pride and joy, his blue Kingswood car. Alice was already sitting in it and they drove off into the setting sun. After an hour and a half they came to Murray’s Creek. They sat beneath the Scribbly Gum tree where they used to camp with Sandra. Their little family came here every holiday when their Sandy was a little firecracker girl.
They talked of how bold little Sandy was and how she always wanted to be in the water. Alice laughed at the time she spent a whole hour hooking what she thought was a big fish only to discover she caught an old gumboot.
Sandy suggested putting the boot on the campfire for dinner. Instead however, her Dad chased her around with the stinky thing for half the afternoon. Little Sandy had screamed, laughed and squealed till all their ears had hurt.
Burt chuckled as he recalled how he and Sandra would swing like monkeys from an old rope. He told of how they would launch themselves into the water while making Tarzan sounds. Alice and Burt laid a daisy beneath the dappled shade of their beloved Scribbly Gum with a photo of their freckle faced and dimpled daughter, Sandra.
The Last Daisies
As night fell the ancient pair drove into the driveway of their little brick home. This house had seen over eighty Christmas mornings, hundreds of birthday parties and it was where Sandra had dressed on her wedding day.
This place had sheltered them, hid their tears, and soaked up their laughs. Alice and Burt walked through each room and laid a daisy. Finally they went out to the garage and sat in the Kingswood.
“Burt, are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Alice asked as she looked at her love through her cataract covered pale eyes.
Burt replied, “Honey, I am a hundred years of age and you are ninety-eight. Soon one of us will die and the other will be left behind. I will not live without you and we cannot live apart. We will go out together. Whatever awaits us, we will walk into it- hand in hand."
Burt and Alice had one last kiss. He turned on the ignition and together they deeply breathed in the carbon monoxide fumes. They held each other tight and said goodbye to a wonderful life.
By A.Sims
Please click Home to check out some more great features of this site!
This story is a work of fiction but the inspiration lies in fact. Years ago I read a newspaper article about this couple who were were 100 and ninety eight and chose to commit suicide because they could not stand the thought of being separated. Now over a decade later I dedicate 'The Daisy Chain' to this ancient lovely couple who lived life long before I started mine.