A BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO FRENCH
WINNER: ELYNE MITCHELL AWARD, 2016
At the funeral, handfuls of golden, plump grains of wheat were sprinkled like rain onto Neil Pratt’s coffin; a quaint country tradition, performed to a background of mumbled farewells and a complexity of individual memories. On the peak of the windswept hill near Mudgella, Neil was duly interred among many who had once been his friends: other small-town locals, who in life had discussed local footy scores on the grubby step outside the bank or complained about the latest cereal harvest over a beer at the pub.
Like a rudderless boat, Gail was buffeted by the persistent waves of condolence that were repeatedly offered for her husband whose coffin rested on some sort of contraption that was poised to lower him into the fertile
