Earlier this year, my sister sent me a link to a story on the ABC website about a wedding veil that is now part of the National Library of Australia’s collection. It’s a lovely story in itself, but there’s also a family connection, which brings it closer to home.

The veil was purchased by Agnes “Nessie” Hackett (née Lockhart) in Melbourne in 1928, and worn by her six months later at her wedding to Norman Hackett, a farmer at Goodnight, New South Wales, on the banks of the Murray River. Over the years, Nessie lent her veil to brides-to-be among her extended family and friends. This tradition was probably born out of tough times – the depression and then the Second World War. All Nessie Hackett requested in return was a photo of the couple showing the bride wearing the veil. It was last worn in 1995, by Jane Merchant, one of Nessie’s granddaughters. The veil was then thought to be too fragile to be worn again, and was recently added to the National Library of Australia’s heritage collection, along with photos of all the 27 brides who wore it.

The connection with my family goes back to the Second World War, when my maternal grandmother relocated from Melbourne to Goodnight with her three children, to stay with the Hacketts on their farm. At the time there were fears that the Japanese military might bomb or even invade Australia, so this was a precautionary move. My grandfather, a Presbyterian minister, stayed in Melbourne.

My mother loved her time there; she was a bit of a tomboy and also loved horses. She got to ride a horse to school! After returning to Melbourne once the perceived danger was over, the families stayed in touch. In fact, in the 1970s, my Mum and Dad would sometimes drive us up to Goodnight for the September school holidays.

The poetry magazine, Finished Creatures, has a current call-out for poems responding to the theme delicate. The story of Nessie’s veil came to mind, but try as I might, I haven’t been able to wrestle it into any even vaguely poetic shape. So I decided to write a blog post instead. You can read the ABC article here.

And while the muse hasn’t deigned to visit on this occasion, Goodnight itself remains a potent place in my memory, across the border . . . the sleep-out with hessian curtains . . . the fridge on the farmhouse verandah and the jar of sheeps’ eyes within . . .