Flag of the Southern Cross

A foreigner with glassy eyes and a gut, par for the course, it was his ears which caught my attention, like classroom models complete with painted on veins. He was with a diminutive woman, hers was an alcopop, his a large bir Anker. A German, who had lived in Australia for twenty years; when he recited Henry Lawson’s poem “Flag of the Southern Cross” tears welled up in his eyes – because, he said, Australia didn’t live up to the spirit of the work – there was no fairness in that country....