John Gilbert

Words:  Unknown
Tune:  Unknown (Four and Twenty Blackbirds Baked in a Pie)



John Gilbert was a bushranger of terrible renown,
For sticking lots of people up and shooting others down.
John Gilbert said unto his pals, “Although they make a bobbery
About our tricks we have never done a tip-top thing in robbery.

“We have all of us a fancy for experiments in pillage,
Yet never have we seized a town, or even sacked a village.”
John Gilbert said unto his mates—“Though partners we have been
In all rascality, yet we no festal day have seen.”

John Gilbert said he thought he saw no obstacle to hinder a
Piratical descent upon the town of Canowindra.
So into Canowindra town rode Gilbert and his men,
And all the Canowindra folk subsided there and then.

The Canowindra populace cried, “Here’s a lot of strangers!!!”
But immediately recovered when they found they were bushrangers.
And Johnny Gilbert said to them, “You need not be afraid.
We are only old companions whom bushrangers you have made.”

And Johnny Gilbert said, said he, “We’ll never hurt a hair
Of men who bravely recognise that we are just all there.”
The New South Welshmen said at once, not making any fuss,
That Johnny Gilbert, after all, was “Just but one of us.”

So Johnny Gilbert took the town (including public houses),
And treated all the “cockatoos” and shouted for their spouses.
And Miss O’Flanagan performed in manner quite gintailly
Upon the grand planner for the bushranger O’Meally.

And every stranger passing by they took, and when they got him
They robbed him of his money and occasionally shot him.
And Johnny’s enigmatic feat admits of this solution,
That bushranging in New South Wales is a favoured institution.

So Johnny Gilbert ne’er allows an anxious thought to fetch him,
For well he knows the Government don’t really want to ketch him.
And if such practices should be to New South Welshmen dear,
With not the least demurring word ought we to interfere.


Another from Paterson's Old Bush Songs.  A strange song with some spectacular rhymes (I apologise for the butchering of "Canowindra" that this song requires).

Strangely this song focusses on the occupation of Canowindra by Ben Hall's gang but places John Gilbert at the centre of the action.

My Religion

Words: Unkown
Tune: John Thompson




Let Romanists all at the Confessional kneel,
Let the Jew with disgust turn from it,
Let the mighty Crown Prelate in Church pander zeal,
Let the Mussulman worship Mahomet.

From all these I differ—truly wise is my plan,
With my doctrine, perhaps, you’ll agree,
To be upright and downright and act like a man,
That’s the religion for me.

I will go to no Church and to no house of Prayer
To see a white shirt on a preacher.
And in no Courthouse on a book will I swear
To injure a poor fellow-creature.

For parsons and preachers are all a mere joke,
Their hands must be greased by a fee;
But with the poor toiler to share your last “toke”*
That’s the religion for me.

[Footnote: “Toke” is a slang word for bread.]

Let Psalm-singing Churchmen and Lutheran sing,
They can’t deceive God with their blarney;
They might just as well dance the Highland Fling,
Or sing the fair fame of Kate Kearney.

But let man unto man like brethren act,
My doctrine this suits to a T,
The heart that can feel for the woes of another,
Oh, that’s the religion for me.


Another from Banjo Paterson's Old Bush Songs.

The illustration to this post is a photograph of the Uniting Church at Aitkenvale in Townsville in the 1920s.

Tomorrow I'm Losing My Darling.

Words: Unknown
Tune: Samuel Lover (Rory O'More)



I'm very unhappy, tho' nothing I've done.
I'll tell you the cause of my sorrow;
To-morrow my darling is leaving the run,
She goes from the station to-morrow.
The missus and she had a bit of a row
About something or other this morning;
The missus she started abusing her so,
My darling at last gave her warning.


CHORUS
Oh, bother the missus, and bother her tongue,
And bother her snapping and snarling;
Through wagging her jaws, without any cause,
To-morrow I'm losing my darling.

She went in the kitchen and kicked up a row,
She said that my darling was lazy;
My poor little darling had nothing to say —
She thought that the missus was crazy.
'Tis jealousy, boys, was the cause of it all,
For my darling had done well her duty;
The missus, confound her, is scraggy and tall,
My darling a plump little beauty.


I went in the office and picked up a book,
And sadly was turning the pages,
When the missus came in, and said she, with a look,
"Pay up this young woman her wages."
"It cannot be done, ma'am," said I with a grin,
"Your husband his cheque-book has taken:"
To tell an untruth was not much of a sin,
Especially when your heart is aching.



The boss is expected home by the next mail,
And the missus, confound her and dang her,
Of course with her husband is sure to prevail;
What woman would not in her anger?
My darling is packing as fast as she can,
She vows she will go in the morning,
Was ever a man tormented as I am?
My heart will seek solace in mourning.


Collected by Paterson in Old Bush Songs.

The origin of the tune is far removed from this tale of a lover's frustration. These notes from The Fiddler's Companion:

Colonel Roger “Rory” O’More (c. 1620-1655) was a minor Irish noble and the titular King of Laois, who rose to fame as the scourge of the English during the reign of Charles I. The jig was composed by Samuel Lover and became the "hit tune" of 1837. Although initially a dance tune (a popular Scottish country dance is called "Rory O'More"), it was absorbed as a common march in the Victorian era British army and can be found in martial manuscript books dating from the 1850's (Winscott). “Rory O’More” also appears in English fiddler’s manuscripts from the same era (see Ellis Knowles and Joshua Gibbons, referenced below). The melody was picked up by morris dancers from the village of Adderbury, Oxfordshire, in England's Cotswolds and used as a rural dance vehicle sometimes called by morris musicians as “Haste to the Wedding” and played in the key of ‘F’.