Finley has a very interesting Agency Nurse working at the hospital at the moment.
Jen Lucas, semi-retired Registered Nurse, is the great, great-granddaughter of one of Finley’s early settlers, J.T. Close.
“When I saw a contract was available for Finley, I couldn’t resist applying for it in the hope of learning more about the town and my family, as I’ve never got to know much about the Sutton/Close connection,” Jen said.
Born and raised in Seymour, Jen moved to Mackay, Queensland more than 20 years ago and worked in the emergency department at the hospital there.
Her father was Don Juers, a soldier engineer born in Loxton who married Marie Sutton, who was born and grew up in Nagambie.
Her mother’s father was Leonard Robert Sutton from Finley, and his mother was Charlotte Close. His father was Robert Garret Sutton from Tocumwal.
“My Pop (Len) went to World War I and World War11. The story goes that he had an interesting time while serving overseas … a few AWOLs I believe,” Jen said. “He played trumpet at the Edinburgh tattoo, which he was most proud about.
“My memories are of him as an old man. We would all sit under this great big tree in his backyard on a hot summer night, and he would sometimes tell us stories about Finley and growing up here,” she continued.
“Pop was also a prodigious poet and wrote a few poems about the Riverina area. One included the poem about Finley, and I would love to give this to the people of Finley.
“I have had a great time in Finley and would definitely come back if another contract became available. I have been here for about seven weeks with two more to go and have done some exploring but would love to do more. I was particularly impressed with the Close Foundry Museum,” Jen concluded.
Here is the poem about Finley that Jen would like to share.
An Old Timer’s Memories
By Leonard Robert Sutton, 1896-1984
I was born in the Riverina,
South West of Gundagai
Where the plains were dry and dusty
And the mercury ran high
Water was as scarce as gold
There were no running brooks
We washed the dishes without soap
Then gave it to the chooks
As kids we used to hoof it
Some miles to school in town
With worn out boots and holey socks
And skins of leathery brown
But as we kids grew older
We watched the old town grow
And cockies came to farm the place
Their wheat and oats to sow
Farmers, mostly Tassie born
On shares with squatter folks,
Didn't seem to do much good
Yet seemed to be good blokes
Heavy droughts and poorly years
Poor people had no cheer
They couldn't even buy a suit
Let alone a pot of beer
The country was as good as gold
If plenteous rain would drop
Wheat would grow like wildfire
And yield a bumper crop
Then the cockies in the glee
Would strip and bag the grain
And arrange to have it carted
Onto the South West train
The good old teamsters then emerged
To line up their powerful yokes
And shift the bumper harvest
They were the toughest blokes
There was Gordon and MacPherson
That led the bullocky mob
Rava and Edward Brothers
Horse pugs for any job
And when the wheat was finished
They'd have a well-earned spell
Then back to squatters' wool haul
Bad roads then made it hell
And the vicious circle still went on
And seasons come and go
And everyone survived the times
Thank Goodness this is so
For now, the seasons are secured
And water scarce no more
A mighty channel runs through town
A few yards from your door
And once where dust and hot winds blew
And birds near died of thirst
Runs lovely Murray water
Making blessed-land, once cursed.
So, the poem has made its way back 'home’.