Pinned To The Earth

Trapped underneath a fully loaded trailer, his only hope was a tiny pocket knife

- Helen Signy

THE HEAT WAS ALREADY SHIMMERING over the fields as Australian sugar cane farmer Barry Lynch pulled his pickup truck to the edge of the road and engaged the handbrake. 6 a.m. The burly 54-year-old took a quick swig of cola, adjusted his cap and stepped out of the cab into the Far North Queensland morning.

Working swiftly, Barry checked out the machinery he was to use that day. The red-and-black tractor was attached to a four-and-a-halfton trailer—a tanker on wheels filled with 5,400 litres of herbicide. He was heading to a far paddock to spray some young cane, but his mind was already on that evening’s mission. It was 1 October, the first anniversary of his mother’s death. Once he’d finished work, he’d head to the coastal town of Lucinda, 140 kilometres away, where he and his sister Susan would release flowers into the ocean in her memory.

Born and bred in Australia’s sugar cane farming belt along the humid, tropical north-east coast, working the land was in Barry’s blood. He travelled from farm to farm, preparing the ground and nurturing the young cane. It was a lonely job. Most days it was just him. But he enjoyed driving the big machinery, loved the smell of the soil as he worked the paddocks. And he was well known for his determination and dedication to the job—for never giving up.

This morning he had set out at 5 a.m. from his home in the little town of Tully. Single since his divorce nearly 30 years earlier, Barry lived on his own, but when he could he spent time with his two daughters and five grandchildren. One of six himself, he’d been close to his father. He had inherited his father’s beloved pocketknife, with its two blades, pliers, screwdriver and a little saw. It meant the world to Barry. He was never without it, and he ran his fingers over it this morning before he lit up a cigarette and surveyed the day’s work.