Almanac Life: ‘The Listeners’ – For My Dad

 

Before he left us in April 2024, one of my Dad’s favourite poems was ‘The Listeners’ by Walter de la Mare. It is the story of a traveller who rides to an old house in the forest to keep a promise. When he arrives at the house no one responds to his knocks or calls. But just because there was no response, does not mean that no-one heard.

 

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,  

   Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses  

   Of the forest’s ferny floor:

And a bird flew up out of the turret,  

   Above the Traveller’s head:

And he smote upon the door again a second time;  

   ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.

But no one descended to the Traveller;  

   No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,  

   Where he stood perplexed and still.

 

“The Perth Scorchers are in another final, Dad!”

“Did you see the game last night? Of course you did. What a great win when it looked impossible. Defending 147 and winning! Like the old days!”

Until my Dad died, nearly two years ago, that would have been the conversation we had today, me in Melbourne, he in Perth.

He loved watching the WA cricket teams when they were winning. He had a deep love for the Perth Scorchers. They meant a lot to him. As he became less mobile with age and infirmity, they were even more important. They gave him a passion which helped to distract him from the shit things that life was serving up. Not that he complained. If I called, he would always want to talk about the Scorchers’ win and their chances to win the title rather than pain or discomfort or his own troubles.

He also loved watching the New Zealand Black Caps and he would have been thrilled this week to see them win an ODI series in India for the first time. He would have loved the Ashes win over the Poms. What a week. What a couple of weeks. For a while, for a very short while, life would be good. Would be worth living.

It’s going to be hard to watch the Big Bash final. I would usually tuck away, in my mind, little snippets of the action as I watched to talk about with him after. To share a few glad moments.

 

But only a host of phantom listeners  

   That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight  

   To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,  

   That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken  

   By the lonely Traveller’s call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,  

   Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,  

   ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;

For he suddenly smote on the door, even  

   Louder, and lifted his head:—

‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,  

   That I kept my word,’ he said.

 

The Big Bash final will go ahead on  Sunday of course. It will no doubt be a great contest no matter who is playing off. No matter who wins. There will be great players on both teams straining and struggling for a win.  Great moments. Game changers. I will hear in my head Dad’s analysis of the clutch moments and his assessments of the players – good and bad.

But he will not be there to watch it.

His home in Perth will sit silent.

His favourite chair will be empty.

The big TV has long gone.

And if the Perth team is fortunate enough to win it, I will be pleased and thrilled of course. But it will not be like the other five times the Scorchers had a win.  It won’t be a moment we can share.

 

Never the least stir made the listeners,  

   Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house  

   From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,  

   And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,  

   When the plunging hoofs were gone.

 

I will still be thinking of him on Sunday.

And I know he will be wanting Perth to get up again.

I hope they do.

For themselves. For all their loyal fans. For me.

For the Listeners in that empty house.

For my Dad.

 

 

To read more by John Gordon click HERE.

 

To return to our Footy Almanac home page click HERE.

 

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