Dedication :
It doesn't seem so long since we, my sisters, brothers, and I, gathered round a fire on winter nights, and with due reverence watched our mother's face illuminated by flames and some inner gladness which, as children, we could not comprehend.
We knew she was very happy just to be there, surrounded by unsullied affection, and become a part of those grandiose dreams we dreamt but her smile, saddened permanently by two earlier tragedies, eluded our understanding, until years built within us a faculty to appreciate the meaning of faith.
You see, Mother had faith in so many things, but particularly in God, in herself, and in us; an untapped reservoir of it, hence her courage to go on dreaming in a world, which overnight as it were, had become a place of sighs.
Mother is quite old now, old and very tired; sickness has whitened her once black hair, and pain she accepts unflinchingly. Mother's smile remains though, as does her faith; in God, in herself, and in us.
This, made deeply conscious of the unselfish part a woman plays in the destiny of every son, I humbly dedicate this book to all mothers, theirs and mine.
F.J. Thwaites,
'Buckingbong'
Moss Vale, N.S.W.
10/07/53
