The Australian Alphabet

Words:  Unknown
Tune:  John Thompson (A variation on Flash Jack From Gundagai)






A is for Australia, the land in which we are;
B is for the bush, my boys, which stretches near and far;
C is for the cattle which we are paid to mind
D is for the dingo, a treacherous brute you'll find.

CHORUS:
So, my Australian brothers, I hope that you will see
Signs of the times in our A B C.

E is for the eagle hawk, which plays havoc with our flocks;
F is for that little wretch - I mean the flying fox;
G is for the gray-flyer, a kind of kangaroo;
H is for the horse, my boys, we all have one or two.

I is for the iguana, which we never catch asleep;
J is for the jumbuck, colonial slang for sheep;
K is for the kangaroo, of which we have a host;
L is for the lyre-bird, the pheasant of the coast.

M is for the morepork, a very curious bird;
N is for the native, as curious as absurd;
O is for that little wretch -  I mean the opossum;
P stands for the public0house, where we do get bad rum.

Q is for Quirindi, where lives Mr Hope;
R stands for his rations, and S stands for his soap;
And of the netx letter I'd have you all beware,
For if you drink too much of it you'll spoil your nerves, I fear.

U is for all of you sitting here about;
V is for our voics, with which we raise a shout;
W is for our whips -  Oh! what a crack they make;
X is for the excitement, when a beast begins to break.

Y it is, and how it is, we are so very wise,
Has always been to me a matter of great surprise;
And as I'm not just now prepared to find a rhyme for Z,
I think we'll go into the bar, and have a nip instead.



Another from The Queenslander, via the Hurd Collection, this one ... "Supplied by A.M., Gayndah".

The Hurd Collection of clippings held at the State Library of Queensland includes a selection from the Songs of the Bush series which appeared in the late nineteenth century as part of the Flotsam and Jetsam column.

The clippings include this note:

Some correspondents who have been kind enough to respond to our request for contributions to this column have formed a wrong impression of the scope of the undertaking and have sent in bush poems - good enough in their way, but not what are wanted.  We ask only for bush songs - songs that are sung every day by the camp fire and in the hut but to familiar airs.  We fully appreciate the industry of those who have set themselves to compose songs since the first notice appeared, but we want only old ditties, such as "The Overlander" or "The Drover". ..




The illustration to this post is the cover of an unrelated book published in Melbourne by Valentine and Sons in 1915.

Mustering Day

Words:  Unknown
Tune:  So Early In The Morning




Old master came to the old hut door
And said, as he'd often said before
"Tomorrow is mustering day
So rouse up, boys and get away"

The morning stars began to rise
As we got up and robbed our eyes
Our horses we quickly manned
And started off with whip in hand.

We met a mob not far away,
Started back without delay;
An old white cow ran off the track,
Old master went to fetch her back.

The mare he rode was rather free,
Ran poor master against a tree,
Threw him off upon his head,
Broke his neck and killed him dead.

Next morning I went to catch a horse
To help to bury poor master's horse
And in that most uncertain light
I got a most tremendous fright

For there I saw old master's ghost
Sitting on top of the stockyard post
Smoking the same old clay
That master smoked on mustering day

Where'er I roam, wheree'er I stray
May I never forget that mustering day
For then I saw old master's ghost
Sitting on top of the stockyard post.


From the Hurd Collection (Clippings from The Queenslander  held in the State Library of Queensland).

The illustration to this post is a photograph of Mr and Mrs RS Hurd "taken at Oskeid, 1920"

The Woodford Drover

Words: Unknown
Tune:  Traditional (All for me Grog)



It was one Friday night, when the stars shone out bright,
And the drovers had emptied the bottle.
Those rough Milton cattle, they came with a rattle
Through logs, over stumps, and through wattle.

Our horses in splendour, we all well remember,
Raced hard for the lead, but in vain;
There was Jack came a crash, up a Moreton Bay ash,
And through it lost hold of his rein.

Then onward we sped, it would wake all the dead,
To hear the great row that we made:
You may talk of Mongolians, and also Napoleon—
You'd think 'twas their men on parade.

On, onward we drew to the lead but a few,
While the wattlo cut like a knife blade;
Still onward we flew to the lead all but two,
For tbe pace it was hot that we made.

When at last we caught them a lesson we taught them;
We wheeled them and rung them in rough timber tall,
I have ridden in thick brushes, and also great rushes,
But I think this the worst of them aIl.

One night-horse—a stranger—not knowing his danger,
Raced headlong and stumbled, then fell;
Not a sound was then heard, but the screech of a bird,
And the far distant sound of a bell.

And there he lay dead, while the rider his head
He had struck 'gainst an old iron bark;
There the horse lay, and his bones to this day
Yoa can see by daylight or dark.

And before the day broke, when the men in camp woke,
They found every hoof bad cleared out;
Not a word one spoke, for they knew 'twas no joke,
Said the Boss," Now, my lads, put aboat."

That day when we mustered together we clustered,
Each man was put in his place;
Our loss it was nought, for we were but three short,
To the watchman that was no disgrace.

Our second, moreover, was an off-handed drover,
Thro' summer and winter he'd weathered;
So now the trip's over, farewell Woodford drover,
Our store bullocks they are delivered.


Another from The Queenslander, this time from Saturday 22 September 1894.  Attributed only to "H".

The illustration to this post is a photograph of Queensland drovers from around 1880.

Bushranger Gilbert's Song

Words: Unknown
Tune:  Traditional (Bonnie Dundee)



To his comrades in council thus Gilbert outspoke:
"Ere rangers go down there are crowns tobe broke;
Then each gallant youth that will plunder with me
Let him follow the banners of Gilbert the free."

CHORUS:
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle my horses and call out my men;
Come load your revolvers and let us go free,
For you've not heard the last of O'Meally and me."

Brave Gilbert is mounted, he rides to the West,
In all that wild country his steed is the best,
From Cooma's fair stables he took him by force,
And Cooma'a gay lords may lament for his loss.

Tho Weddin' has mountains, th'Aberorcmbie has caves,
While they have traps in tho East, in the West they have Braves;
And cockatoo settlers three thousand times three
Cry shares in the booty of Gilbert the free.

"We'll pillage your banks and we'll rob all your stores,
We'll rout your gold escorts and laugh at your laws;
We'll laugh at you all in the midst of our glee,
For you've not heard the last of O'Meally and me."



In the late 19th Century, the Queenslander's Flotsam and Jetsam column published old songs sent in by readers.  This song from the Queenslander, Saturday, 2 February 1895, with the note:

Supplied by GWEH, Moonee Ponds, Victoria.

John O'Meally was one of John Gilbert's gang and was involved in the robbery at Eugowra Rocks.

The illustration to this post is a sketch of Johnny Gilbert from the 1860s.