The Baron's Last Ride

  • Chris Ellis


In a curve of the river that ran below the village where I practiced, nestled a small farm redolent of the old colonial days. The wide tiled verandahs of the farm house were all wicker and palms and brookie lace under the eaves. At the end of the garden there was a small trout pond and then lucerne fields leading down to the river. It was one of my favourite housecalls for one of my favourite diseases; advanced eccentricity.