Eden has a long and proud history of involvement with the Timber Industry which it shares with timber communities across Australia. Sadly this is an unforgiving industry where a momentary lapse can be fatal.

This Memorial is dedicated to those in the timber industry that have lost their lives while working in our industry.  If you have family or friends that you would like to commemorate at the National Timber Worker’s Memorial please contact us.

There is a small cost to provide the brass plaque for the remembrance wall. Contact can be by post, phone or email through our contact page.

Memorial to a Timber Worker

No longer the swish of a cross cut saw,
the clunk of the broad axe blade,
the squared off logs from the big round trees
that the sleeper cutters made.

The crack of a whip, the bullockie’s cry,
the swirling dust and flies,
the hot constant toil of the timber worker
beneath these southern skies.

The horses pull, the harness creaks,
the big logs slide along,
the men work hard to mill the logs
accompanied by the bellbird’s song.

As time progresses and tools improve
the work now done by machines.
the work is still hard, for now we have
several wood products on the scene.

In the early hours of breaking day,
the men leave to go to their job,
their loved ones stay at home and
know to place their faith in God.

But God has plans for each man on Earth,
this plan beyond Man’s control.
And the bushies job, dangerous and hard
on some loved one leaves its toll.

The flying limb, the rolling log,
the swish of a falling tree,
a speeding truck and all too soon
a bushman’s soul is set free.

For those alone and left to grieve,
it is hard to understand,
why God should want this person’s life,
this hard working timberman.

We will never know the reason why
their lives were taken away,
but as years go by, we accept the change
and think of them when we pray.

Together in this place of peace
we gather our thoughts as one,
and feel proud of the work among the trees
that our bushman all have done.

As the treetops sway, and the bush birds sing
may God bless their souls wherever,
and the courage shown by our bushmen lost,
stay in our hearts forever.

Gillian Munday November 2002


A place of tranquil beauty,
Created by Mother Nature’s hand,
Cool green clad fern gullies sleep
Where the mighty eucalyptus stand.
A haven of birds of all feathers,
Parrots, currawong, black and gang gang,
Swoop above the granite outcrop,
Where the dingo?s night song sang.
Grey ‘roos rest in the dapple shade,
Wombats burrow in the red loam,
Cattle graze sweet native grasses
of their mountain summer home.
The loggers work long hard hours,
they harvest the prime timber gums.
To fill the sawmiller?s quotas
before the savage winter wind comes.
These men of stature, fine physiques,
toil with bulldozer and chain saw,
Replacing the bullock team and cross cut,
as their father’s had done before.
But Mother Nature’s not always loving,
her hand can often be cruel.
Her anger can lash through the forest,
to scoff Her would be a fool.
Like an evil minded spider
that weaves her deadly thread,
A “widowmaker” through the leaves crashing,
another young bushman lies dead.
Twilight descends on the hilltops
hushed evening breezes sigh,
Ashen faces look to his picture,
his widow and children, ask why?

Written by Val Kirley 10-3-1998 and dedicated to those men who lost their lives working in the logging game.