The Hardest Bloody Job I Ever Had

Words:  Unknown

Tune:  Traditional ('Ard Tack)

I'm a shearer, yes I am, and I've shorn them sheep and lamb

From the Wimmera to the Darling Downs and back,

And I've rung a shed or two when the fleece was tough as glue

But I'll tell you where I struck the hardest tack.

I was down by Yenda way, killin' time from day to day,

Till the big sheds started moving further out;

When I struck a bloke by chance that I summed up in a glance

As a cocky from a vineyard round about.

Now it seems he picked me too, well, it wasn't hard to do,

As I had my tongs a-hanging at the hip,

"I've got a mob", he said, "of about two hundred head,

And I'd give a ten pound note to have the clip."

I says: "Right, I'll take the stand": it meant getting in me hand;

And by nine o'clock we'd rounded up the mob

In a shed sunk in the ground - yeah, with wine casks all around,

And that was where I started on me job.

I goes easy for a bit while me hand was gitting fit,

And by dinner time I'd done some half a score,

With the cocky picking up, and handing me a cup,

Of pinkie after every sheep I shore.

The cocky had to go away about the seventh day,

After showing me the kind of kegs to use:

Then I'd do the pickin' up, and handing me a cup,

Of pinkie after every sheep I shore.

Then I'd stagger to the pen, grab a sheep and start again,

With a noise between a hiccup and a sob,

And sometimes I'd fall asleep with my arms around the sheep,

Worn and weary from me over-arduous job.

And so six weeks went by, until one day with a sigh,

I pushed the poor old cobbler through the door,

Gathered up the cocky's pay, then staggered on me way,

From the hardest bloody shed I ever shore.

Another from Warren Fahey's Australian Folk Songs and Bush Ballads, published with the following note:

Wine grapes have been grown in Australia from the days of early European settlement and they are celebrated here in this wonderful song charged with bush humour and imagery, especially when the shearer falls asleep "with his arms wrapped around the sheep, worn and weary from the over-arduous job."  This version is taken from the singing of Mr Jack Davies, a soldier-settler in the Leeton district, New South Wales, and included in John Lahey's "Great Australian Folk Songs" under the title "Ard Tack", with a note:  "It is a song any shearer would relish, but more so in that part of Murrumbidgee, where vineyards and sheep can so easily go together."

The illustration to this post is a photograph from the National Library of Australia entitled "Shearer shearing a sheep's back with mechanical shears, Australia, ca. 1890"

The Ticket of Leave Man

Words:  Unknown
Tune:  Traditional (Pretty Polly Perkins)





Once I was honest and worked at my trade
Which was shoemaker and good shoes I made,
Till once a fine fellow came into my place,
And he was the cause of my present disgrace.

CHORUS:
He was a Ticket of Leave man, still inclined for to thieve,
Although he was out on a Ticket of Leave

He came to my shop and quickly 'twas,
He ordered some boots and he ordered some shoes,
For a twenty pound note, then, the change he did receive,
I was sold by a Ticket of Leave

A week after this note I did cash,
It was forged and for me was a regular smash,
They made me an example and sent me away,
And gave me seven years at Botany Bay.

But every convict bear this in sight,
May he again receive this freedom, if he acts right,
And the government there my story did believe,
And I had but one year and a Ticket of Leave.

Arrived here on shore, I idleness do shirk,
And tried like a man to look for some work.
But all the folks I saw did the one answer give,
Where's the Police, you're a Ticket of Leave.

I'm scorned by the rich, I'm scorned by the poor.
My ticket drives me mad, from door to door,
And now ere a week or fortnight is pass'd
They make me a thief and dishonest at last.

And this will be the end of the poor
Ticket of Leave Man, who is not inclined to thieve
Although I'm free, with my Ticket of Leave,
And who do you think would employ a Ticket of Leave?



This song from Warren Fahey's Australian Folk Songs and Bush Ballads, although originally collected by Hugh Anderson and Ron Edwards as part of their examination of English broadside ballads.  It was Warren who joined these lyrics to this tune.

The Ticket of Leave was an early form of parole.

The illustration to this post is taken from a review of Tom Taylor's play The Ticket of Leave Man, published in Punch, Vol 104, February 4, 1893.

The Gum Tree With Six Branches

Words: Walter P Keen
Tune:  Traditional (Australia's On The Wallaby)




I roamed the bush one summer's eve, while wattle trees were blooming
And aided by the Myall wood, in a land so sweet perfuming,
At sunset, feeling tired, I slept beneath the bowers,
And as I dreamt a spirit arose, from out of the flowers,
The spirit of Australia, was what it said to me
Oh son of mine I'll show to you your magic native tree.

CHORUS
One branch is called Victoria and one is New South Wales,
Then South and West Australia, each gallantly prevails.
With Queensland and Tasmania, dll rich in mines and ranches,
That's federal Australia, the gumtree with six branches.

The spirit said: 'In that tree, there's untold wealth awaiting,
The labour of her children, so why be hesitating,
The task is not beyond you, each healthy son and daughter,
But chiefly you must always—supply that tree with water.
Then she will freely yield the things that you require,
And to its independence your nation will aspire.'

The spirit said: Then rest not, till your task it is completed,
Tis only curs who tell you in childhood they're defeated,
That tree is only growing but she will bloom tomorrow,
For you can't raise a nation without a little sorrow.
Then may each branch united dispel all jealousy,
Advance as one Australia—upon that magic tree.


An example of a type of patriotic song all-too-rare in these cynical times (although I'm not totally convinced by the thought that we should all band together and advance on a tree).

From Warren Fahey's inestimable Australian Folklore Unit site.  Published with the following note:

This song was sung at the Tivoli Music Hall about 1910 and the words are attributed to Walter P. Keen with music by that old trouper, Joe Salter. The tune has been suggested by Warren Fahey who unearthed the song in 1979. The gumtree now has eight branches with the addition of the Northern Territory and the ACT. A recorded version appears on the 2MBS-FM record Ryder Round Folk, Sydney.

The Academy of Mr Paddy West

Unknown.



You have heard of the academy of Mister Paddy West?
For style and popularity, my school it is the best.
For I've only room for forty and I'm boarding seventy-four
And sure, by Jesus, who is that, comes knocking on my door?

O me name is Patrick Dooley and I've dragged me weary way
All the way from dear old Ireland and I wants to go to sea.
"Come in, me friend," says Paddy, "you're as safe as house ashore,
You're an Irishman and a gentleman and a townie of me own."

"Now, observe this hole within the wall, that is a furnace door,
And there is the shovel and stone, me boys, that lay upon the floor.
You take the shovel and the stones and through the furnace go,
And I'll make you a western Ocean fireman with a dungaree jacket, O!"

Oh we know the way to Auckland and the lights on Sydney Head
We've saved our lives and a little beside on a cold and North Sea wreck;
O I've crossed the Western Ocean in the Gulf of Capricorn.
And I've doffed me glass to a Chinese lass in the ricefields of Siam,

And I've said adieu to a wild old life as a sailor on the seas
I've been down South and way up North and odd ports in between.
I've sung me songs and doffed me cap as I rounded of the Horn
And by cripes I've sworn by Paddy West since the day that I was born.


From Warren Fahey's Australian Folk Songs and Bush Ballads.  This song from the History Workshop pamphlet, Shellback: Reminisces of Ben Bright, Mariner, collected by Ewan MacColl and Peggy Seeger.  From Warren's notes:


Paddy West is a mythical figure in maritime folklore known for operating a dodgy school for would-be sailors.

The illustration to this post is a photograph of Hobson's Bay Railway Pier, Sandridge (Now Station Pier, Port Melbourne) about 1878.

Tailing A Kangaroo

Unknown




Bill Swiggen and myself were bushed up in the mallee scrub,
For two long days and two ling nights we had not tasted grub,
And on the third, my blessed word, affairs looked rather blue,
When Bill descried, with joyful pride, an old man kangaroo.

This old man quite majestically sat upright on his tail,
He looked at us contemptuously, nor did he shake nor quail,
He seemed to say, 'To come this way, what business fried had you?'
'By Jove!” cried Bill, “I'd like to kill, that old man kangaroo.'

Without another word he rushed with waddy in his hand,
To where the old man kangaroo undauntedly did stand,
He aimed a blow but this hairy foe upon poor William flew,
And grabbed my mate, as sure as fate, this old man kangaroo.

He clasped him tightly in his arms and Bill began to roar,
A struggle so terrific, I had ne'er beheld before,
“Oh Tom, why blow my eyes, you know he'll break my back in two,
Come hither quick and fetch a stick, oh cuss the kangaroo.

At my approach the kangaroo made ready for a bolt,
But still he clung to William tight, he would not loose his holt,
But Bill you see, was twelve stone three, flesh, bones and muscle too,
That's overweight, the truth I state, for any kangaroo.

Them stealing up behind the brute, my bag I opened wide,
And pulling it down over his ears, I then securely tied,
It 'round his neck, this seemed to check his progress so I drew,
My dover out and with a shout, I tailed that old man kangaroo.

A kangaroo without a tail can't run we all well know,
So finding his appendage gone, he let poor Willie go,
He gave a shout, a gory tail I tell you but it's true,
Then with a jump he sunk, a lump of lifeless kangaroo.

My mate was slightly bruised about but scarcely he was freed,
\When turning round to me he says, “By George, we'll have a feed.”
Then Billy got the billy pot and cooked a splendid stew,
The sweetest meal I ever ate was that old man kangaroo.


I've used the words from Warren Fahey's collection of this song from the Australian Journal - July 1871, where it was attributed to Tom Tallfern.

I first came across this one in Singabout, Volume 4, Number 2 (1961) where it was published with the following note:

Sung by Simon McDonald, of Creswick, Victoria and collected by N.O'Connor and H. Pearce of the Folk Lore Society of Victoria in 1957.


I've used the tune from Singabout.


The illustration to this post is from an 1860 issue of the Illustrated London News entitled, Death of a Red Forester, An Old Man Kangaroo.

The Gumtree Canoe

Words:  Silas Steele

Music:  AF Winnemere

By yon bonny river in a hut I was born

Made out of thorns and the wild yellow corn

It's there I met Julia so fair and so true

And we went for a row in my gumtree canoe

We will row, yes we'll row

Over waters so blue

Like a feather I'm a floating

In my gumtree canoe

With one hand on my banjo and my toe on the oar

I'll sing to my Julia - I'll sing as I row

And the stars they shone down on my Julia so true

On the night we rowed out in my gumtree canoe

Was for three solid days we sailed out on the bay

We could not get back -  we were forced there to stay

Then we spied a large ship flying the flag of true blue

And she took us in tow in my gumtree canoe.

An American song from 1847 which has picked up some Australian variations.

This tune collected by Warren Fahey and used on the 1977 album, Lime Juice and Vinegar.


The following is from Mudcat and the cover text:

Published in Boston (as much of the first-period minstrel music was) in 1847!  Only 4 years after Dan Emmett and the boys got the whole thing rolling!

PLANTATION MELODIES,
The words by S.S. STEELE, Esq. as sung by A.F. WINNEMORE and his band of VIRGINIA SERENADERS.
Arranged for the Piano Forte by A. F. WINNEMORE.

1. The Gum Tree Canoe
2. Kate of Carolina (Note: other songs were sold with same cover)
3. Dinah Doe
4. Away to the Sugar Cane Field
5. Farewell to Georgia
6. De Eel Catcher's Glee

The Royal Charter

Unknown



Good people all, attend, I pray,
Now I'll relate a sad calamity,
Of a dreadful shipwreck near Belmore Town
Of the Royal Charter while homeward bound.

From fair Australia with a pleasant gale
The Royal Charter for old England sailed
With a human cargo, her fate did rule
We ne'er but one reached Liverpool.

On Tuesday morning, I'm grieved to say,
Our fore and mainmast were cut away,
When our mizzen-top fell with a heavy crush,
And in the raging sea our ship did dash.

Brave Captain Taylor with his men so brave
Made all their efforts the ship to save
But notwithstanding all they could do
The Royal Charter she broke in two.

Now broadside on she drove on shore.
The lightning flashed and the sea did roar,
Brave Captain Taylor drowned it is true,
With ninety-seven of his gallant crew.

Now the total number that lost their lives
Was four hundred and fifty-five;
Of women and child we are assured
Not one escaped out of all on board.

Off the riggings lost their names I'll tell;
Was Williams, Thomson and James Bell,
There was Elfie and Philips and W.Jones
There was another, but his name's unknown.

And drowned in agony and anguish wild
The mother cried, "Do save my child!"
And the father strived in vain -
They were all engulfed in the raging main.

O God, 'tis frightful to think what crowds
Of drowned passengers clung to the shrouds
To hear their shrieks on the stormy sea,
As from the ship they were washed away.

So may the Lord look down on the deep distress
Of the widowed mothers and fatherless
Likewise the parents of the seamen brave
Who in the Royal Charter met a watery grave.


The Royal Charter was the most prominent victim of over 200 ships wrecked in what became known as the "Royal Charter Storm" off the Welsh coast on 26 October, 1859.


Another from Warren Fahey's Australian Folk Songs and Bush Ballads, published with the following notes:

On 25 October 1859, the Royal Charter, a combined steam and sailing ship from Melbourne bound for Liverpool, was lost off Moelfre on the island of Anglesey, Wales....


Almost at the end of its long voyage from Melbourne to England, the Royal Charter was carrying 452 passengers and crew and gold from the Australian goldfield valued at £320 000.


... EJ Moeran collected a ballad about the wreck from Mr JAmes Strong at Winterton, England, in July 1915.  It was published in his Songs Sung in Norfolk, 1923...

Currency Lasses

Unknown



The Currency Lads can fill up their glasses
And drink to the health of the Currency Lasses,
The lass I adore, the one for me
Is the lass in the Female Factory.

Molly's her name - her name it is Molly
Although she was tried by the name of Polly
Tried and sentenced to death at Newry
The Judge was bribed and so were the jury.

She was sentenced to death at Newry Town
For stealing her mistresses watch and gown.
Her little boy, Paddy, will tell you the tale
His Father is turnkey at Newry Jail.

The first time I saw this comely lass
I was at Parramatta, goin' to Mass.
Says I, "I'll marry you in an hour"
Says she, "I'll go and get Father Power".

But I got into trouble that very same night.
Being drunk on the street I got into a fight.
A policeman came up and I gave him a box.
I was put in the watch-house and then in the stocks

It's very unpleasant as I remember
To sit in the stocks in the month of December
The wind is so hot with the sun right o'er
Sure, it's no place for a lover at all.

"It's very unpleasant", says I, "Mr Dunn,
For to sit here all day in the heat of the sun",
"Either that or a dollar", says he, "for your folly".
"If I had a dollar I'd drink it with Molly."

Now I'm out again, early and late.
Crying outside of the Factory gate
Sayin', "Mrs O'Reardon and Mrs Muldoon
Won't you let my Molly out very soon."

And the Currency Lads can fill up their glasses
And drink to the health of the Currency Lasses.
The lass I adore, the one for me
Is the lass of the Female Factory.


From Warren Fahey's Australian Folk Songs and Bush Ballads.  Collected by Warren from:

Botany Bay Eclogues in the Sydney Gazette, 4 July 1832. "An excellent new Song, as it ought to be sung  in the Theatre Royal, Sydney, by Mr Bert Levy, in the character of the ticket-of-leave holder"

The Carrier's Song

Words:  Unknown
Tune:  Traditional (Bow, Wow, Wow)





To sing you all a pleasant song, I now feel in the mind, sir,
For travelling on the road each day, there's something strange you'll find, sir.
It's strange to know the once-good tracks, no longer we can trust, sir,
For every road we travel now, there's nothing there but dust, sir.

CHORUS:
Dust, dust, dust,
Along the roads there's nothing there but dust, dust, dust.

I pity those poor carriers, who on the road oft travel,
With gibs of horses quite knocked up by ruts and sand and gravel.
No water on the way they find, though they in vain may seek, sir,
For dust has filled each waterhole, each gully and dry creek, sir.

If to New England e'er they go, and take much heavy loading,
I fear they'll find their horses then  will need some extra goading,
As stuck upon the Moonbi Range, in them they cannot trust, sir;
Do all they can they will not pull the high load through the dust, sir.

Now, too much rain's a different thing to what we do require
In rainy weather well you know, you can't keep in the fire;
As stuck upon the creek you ask to get a pull out,
From some bull-puncher who has just got his own team with wool out.

CHORUS:
Rain, rain, rain,
Along the road there's nothing there but rain, rain, rain.

So now I've sung in humble rhyme the trails of the road, sir,
Of what a driver must endure, who takes a heavy load, sir;
How he may be stuck fast enough, for many, many weeks, sir,
Though 'twould be naught if government would only bridge the creeks, sir.


From Warren Fahey's Australian Folk Songs and Bush Ballads.

The illustration is a photograph by AJ Campbell from around 1900 entitled, Bogged.  From the collection of Museum Victoria.

The Flying Pieman

Unknown










'Twas the close of a heavy drinking bout on port and sherry (Cape)
From public, half-seas over, we had just made our escape;
Our infant in its cradle was peacefully asleep,
And merrily we rolled along the street of Church Hill steep.


At length Bill Tompkins gave a shout of terror and fear,
As though he just had gazed upon some stern policeman near;
We looked all down the pavement, cried Tompkins, “well, I'm blowed,
See where the Flying Pieman comes bounding o'er the road.”


He comes! The Flying Pieman comes! And terrible his pace,
He scuds along the flinty path as though he ran a race;
The cards and placards in his hat all pasted on awry,
Are circulated quickly, as the Pieman dashes by.


He scudded on too speedily to mark his rapid flight,
In fear and consternation then we staggered off, half tight;
Quoth Tompkins, “When we travel home, I fear there'll be a breeze,
Our better-halves will put an end to these delightful sprees.”


Then mark the Flying Pieman comes, for comical his doom,
He scuds about from morn till night, queer costumes doth assume;
Around the town he beats about, forever, night and day,
And boys admiring shout, “There goes the Flying Pieman, hip! hooray!”






With thanks to Warren Fahey.


The Flying Pieman (William Francis King) and his bizarre feats of pedestrianism deserve greater attention.


These lyrics from  Colonial Society Magazine - Feb. 1865

Green Leaves Upon The Green

There was a little squatter and he lived close by
Upon the green leaves, upon the green,
And he had a son of a very rough kind
And you know very well what I mean
And you know very well what I mean

And there was another cocky and he lived close by
Upon the green leaves, upon the green,
And he had a daughter of a very rough kind
And you know very well what I mean
And you know very well what I mean

And they placed them both to bed one night
Upon the green leaves, upon the green,
To see which one would tempt the other first,
And you know very well what I mean,
And you know very well what I mean.

She placed her hand upon his hip,
Upon the green leaves, upon the green,
And said, “what is this that stands so stiff?
And you know very well what I mean,
Well you know very well what I mean.

That is my horse that drinks at the well
Upon the green leaves, upon the green.
Yes that is my nag which rears and swells
And you know very well what I mean,
And you know very well what I mean,


But what is this hangs under his chin
Upon the green, leaves upon the green
That's the bags he puts his fodder in
And you know very well what I mean,
And you know very well what I mean,


Said he, "What's this?", "It is a well
Upon the green, leaves upon the green
Where your nag can drink and drink his fill
And you know very well what I mean,
And you know very well what I mean,


But what if he should chance to slip in
Upon the green, leaves upon the green
Then catch hold of the grass that grows on the brim
And you know very well what I mean,
And you know very well what I mean,




But what if the grass should chance to fail
Upon the green, leaves upon the green.
Shove him in by the head, pull him out by the tail
And you know very well what I mean,
And you know very well what I mean.




With the kind assistance of Warren Fahey.  Recorded in Adelaide in 1962 from the singing of Bill Harney and transcribed by Warren from the collection of the State Library of South Australia.


A confusing song.  I have little idea as to what it describes.  Something about horses....

The Old Macquarie

Words: Unknown
Tune: Traditional (One More River To Cross)



Noah he built himself an ark
There's one more river to cross
He built it out of gumtree bark
There's one more river to cross

CHORUS
There's one more river and that's the old Macquarie
There's one more river,
There's one more river to cross

The animals went in one by one
They all wanted to have some fun

The animals went in two by two
The wombat and the kangaroo

The animals went in three by three
The little bug and the frisky flea

The animals went in four by four
The buffaloes they got stuck in the door

The animals went in five by five
Some had children and some had wives

The animals went in six by six
Some carried swags and some carried sticks

The animals went in seven by seven
Some talked of hell and some of heaven

The animals went in eight by eight
Some were early and some were late

The animals went in nine by nine
Some in a circle and some in a line

The animals went in ten by ten
They had so much fun they said 'let's do it again'

Perhaps you think there's another verse
But there isn't!



Collected by Warren Fahey in 1973 from Mrs Susan Colley at the Bathurst Home for the Aged. This version recorded in the Country Lodge Motel, Bathurst, October 27, 2011.


Here's a link to a version of the original

The Stockmen of Australia

Words: Unknown
Tune: Traditional (The British Grenadiers)



The stockmen of Australia, what rowdy boys are they,
They will curse and swear a hurricane if you come in their way.
They dash along the forest on black, bay, brown, or grey,
And the stockmen of Australia, hard-riding boys are they.

By constant feats of horsemanship, they procure for us our grub,
And supply us with the fattest beef by hard work in the scrub.
To muster up the cattle they cease not night nor day,
And the stockmen of Australia, hard-riding boys are they.

Just mark him as he jogs along, his stockwhip on his knee,
His white mole pants and polished boots and jaunty cabbage-tree.
His horsey-pattern Crimean shirt of colours bright and gay,
And the stockmen of Australia, what dressy boys are they.

If you should chance to lose yourself and drop upon his camp,
He's there reclining on the ground, be it dry or be it damp.
He'll give you hearty welcome, and a stunning pot of tea,
For the stockmen of Australia, good-natured boys are they.

If down to Sydney you should go, and there a stockman meet,
Remark the sly looks cast on him as he roams through the street.
From the shade of lovely bonnets steal forth those glances gay,
For the stockmen of Australia, the ladies' pets are they.

Whatever fun is going on, the stockman will be there,
Be it theatre or concert, or dance or fancy fair.
To join in the amusements be sure he won't delay,
For the stockmen of Australia, light-hearted boys are they.

Then here's a health to every lass, and let the toast go round,
To as jolly a set of fellows as ever yet were found.
And all good luck be with them, for ever and to-day,
Here's to the stockmen of Australia-hip, hip, hooray!


This jaunty number is another from Banjo Paterson's Old Bush Songs, coupled with the tune of The British Grenadiers by the inimitable Warren Fahey.

The Maid of Richmond Ferry

Unknown



Near Richmond 'Flat there lives a maid
More fair than summer morn,
Who has completely turned my head,
And left me now forlorn:
This lass so neat, who smiles so sweet,
To wed is in no hurry;
Although she knows I languish for
The Maid of Richmond Ferry.

Now happy would this Digger be
To call this nymph his own !
If she should say, "my husband be,"
I'd live for her alone.
But this lovely lass, whom none surpass,
In love affairs does vary
So much, I've almost lost all hope
Of the Maid of Richmond ferry.

St.. Kilda is a charming spot,
And Collingwood is pretty,
Prahran and Windsor I admire,
And Hawthorne, for their beauty.
But Richmond is the spot most dear
For there I oft make merry
With lemonade, and ginger beer,
And the Maid of Richmond Ferry



From the collecting of Warren Fahey. Published in 1853 in the Armchair Magazine.

As best as I can discover, this song refers to one of the Burnley ferry services in Melbourne. On this basis, this post is illustrated with a picture entitled "Ferry paddling up the Yarra in Burnley (Richmond)"

I've set this piece to the tune commonly used for the Murrumbidgee Shearer.

The Brewer's Glee

Words: Unknown


Tune: Traditional (When the Kye Comes Home)/arranged John Thompson



Come all ye wealthy brewers that make colonial ale,
Let us mix the decoction that has such a ready sale:
come hither with your drugs; hope and barley are too dear.
And we'll mix the swipers up a dose of pure colonial beer.

Oh! the brewing of the beer,
Oh! the brewing of the beer.
Success to chemistry, and to the art of brewing beer.

First fill the vat with water, put some molasses in,
With vitroil and opium we may just as well begin;
Put in some camomile, it's a wholesome thing I hear
And may counteract the 'bacco that we'll now put in the beer.

Put in some alum, salt, and ginger, now to make it nice
And to pleasure the poor devils here's some grains of paradise;
And don't spare the nux vomica, tho' strychnine is dear
But we must use it to give a hoppy flavour to the beer.

Here is coculus indicus to make their heads go round,
Here's quassia and here's multum too — don't be nice to a pound,
Put nutgalls in to colour it, and potash too is clear,
And to hinder it from scouring put some jalap in the beer.

Let the farmer feed his cattle and his poultry and his grain,
We do not want his barley while we've fox-glove and herbane;
Give us copperas, and wormwood, and hartshorn, and don't fear
That lushingtons need ever go without colonial beer.

Oh! the brewing of the beer,
Oh! the brewing of the beer.
Success to chemistry, and to the art of brewing beer.


Warren Fahey has this one as from Sam Slick Magazine (October 1879), while Ron Edwards came across it in a Colonial Songster two years later.

While set to "When the Kye Comes Home", I've changed the tune slightly to taste.

A version appears on cloudstreet's 2010 album, The Circus of Desires.

The Song of the RSL

Words: Anonymous
Tune: Peter Dodds McCormick (Advance Australia Fair)



Australia's sons let us rejoice
For we are young and white
The yellow hordes may get us soon
But we are in the right
The white man's burdens never cease
We bear them night and day
Until the Asian hordes increase
And everybody's grey

CHORUS:
Of mingled strains let others sing
But keep Australia's white

Though other races interbreed
We'll toil with heart and hand
To keep our island continent
A white and open land
Our natives have their settlements
Our neighbours all are Asian
We'll sing and dance and wave our flags
Because we are Caucasian.

Though other states desegregate
Our gallant lads ensure
That through our British ancestry
Our heritage is pure
The negroid races may prevail
But still Australians stand
United to this common end
A white and pleasant land.


From Warren Fahey's The Balls of Bob Menzies (Australian Political Songs 1900-1980), Angus and Robertson, Sydney, 1989 with the following note:

Anonymous song that seems to havae gained wide circulation including most university songbooks in the 1960s and 1970s.


The RSL (Returned Servicemen's League) has been a generally conservative force in Australia for many years

The White Australia Policy is the collective name for a series of government policies directed at limiting non-European immigration to Australia from the 1850s until 1966. Originally directed at the prevention of Chinese immigrant workers, it developed in later years to be directed at most non-white immigrants.

The illustration to this post is a cartoon from Punch, June 2, 1888, with the caption, "Outside, Sir, Outside!"

Botany Bay - A New Song

Words: Unknown
Tune: Traditional (I've Been A Wild Boy)




Let us drink a good health to our schemers above,
Who at length have contriv'd from this land to remove
Thieves, robbers, and villains, and send them away
To become a new people at Botany Bay.

Such men as have talents, and trades to get bread,
Yet spunge on the public to be cloathed and fed;
Who spend all they get, and turn night into day,
Such sots should be all sent to Botany Bay.

When gay powder'd coxcombs and proud dressy fops,
With very small fortunes set up in great shops;
If they run into debt:—with design not to pay,
They should all be transported to Botany Bay.

The bankrupt who gets his certificate sign'd,
And once more to take in his friends is inclin'd;
All such depredators our ships should convey,
With other less villains, to Botany Bay.

The tradesmen who play at cards, billiards, and dice,
Must pay for their goods an extravagant price;
No, faith, I'm mistaken,—such rogues never pay,
And therefore should all go to Botany Bay.

If at an election an agent is found
Corrupting the voters, or handing bribes round;
Such dabblers in dirty work, send them away,
With those that employ them, to Botany Bay.

When men that are married to good-natur'd wives
Run after lewd wenches, and lead debauch'd lives,
Our wise legislature should send such away
To support their new system at Botany Bay.

The night-walking strumpets that swarm in each street,
Proclaiming their calling to each man they meet,
Are become such a pest, that without more delay,
Those despoilers of youth should be sent to the Bay.

If any proud parson his flock should neglect,
And more than his bible the tythe laws inspect,
Or if he's too lazy to preach or to pray,
Such a drone would be sent out to Botany Bay.

When clerical coxcombs affect the bon ton,
Keep hunters, grooms, footmen, girls, dogs, and a gun;
Much more than their income they squander away,
And are very fit objects for Botany Bay.

If monopolizers will add to their store,
By cruel oppression, and squeezing the poor,
Or jobbers or farmers grow rich in that way,
Such foes to the public should go to the Bay.

If great men above, or our gentry below,
Who talk much of honour, and make a great show,
If they the poor tradesmen don't annually pay,
Send off such defaulters to Botany Bay.

When lecherous whoremasters practise vile arts,
To ruin young virgins, and break parents' hearts,
Or from the fond husband the wife leads astray,
Let such debauch'd stallions be sent to the Bay.

When rakes are promoted they ought to be watch'd,
For some will pass sentence on girls they've debauch'd;
If men break the peace—who to keep peace are paid,
Send off such transgressors to Botany Bay.

Then whores, pimps, and bastards, a large costly crew,
Maintain'd by the sweat of the labouring few,
Should have no commissions, place, pension, or pay;
Such locusts should all go to Botany Bay.

And that our foul nation may cleanly be swept,
Send off all the keepers as well as the kept;
Who beggars his children his bunter to pay,
Should work for a breakfast at Botany Bay.

The hulks and the jails have some thousands in store,
But out of the gaols are ten thousand times more
Who live by fraud, cheating, vile tricks, and foul play,
And should all be sent over to Botany Bay.

Should any take umbrage at what I have writ,
And here find a bonnet, or cap that will fit;
To such I have only this one word to say,—
They're welcome to wear it to Botany Bay.


From the County Magazine, November, 1786.

There is a discussion on Mudcat of this and a (possibly earlier) alternate version.

A version has been recorded by Warren Fahey to a different tune on his Rare Convict Ballads and Broadsides album. (Villikins and his Dinah is sometimes suggested as a tune for this one, but I found it a bit too jaunty.)


The illustration to this post is a lithograph, A government jail gang, Sydney NSW, (Augustus Earle, 1830, lithograph), Rex Nan Kivell Collection, National Library of Australia.

Two Professional Hums

Words: Unknown
Tune: Three Jolly Lads Are We (?)



Come all you jovial fellows and listen to me chums,
And I'll relate to you the story of two professional hums,
Who travelled England, Ireland; all over Scotland too,
And took an oath in Bendigo, no more work they would do.

No more work they would do boys, troll old army dough boys,
Humming a drink where 'ere we could, sing fol the righty-o,
For we are hums and jolly good chums, we live like Royal Turks,
And if we've luck we'll hum our cheques and shoot the man who works.

We asked a lady, the other day, for something for to eat,
A little bit of chicken or a little bit of meat,
A little bit of turkey or a little bit of ham,
A half-a-dozen loaves of bread and a bucket full of jam.

Or anything at all, Mam, for we're nearly starving,
Anything to help a poor joker on his way,
For we are hums and jolly good chums, we live like Royal Turks,
And if we've luck we'll hum our cheques and shoot the man who works.

A farmer asked me the other day, "If I would go to graft?"
Says I, "What is the work ?", says he, "A-cutting of some chaff"
Says I, "What is the payment?" - 'A dollar and a half's the sum"
Says I, "Why don't you go shoot yourself! For we would rather hum

Than work upon the harvest and let the cockles starve us."
Humming a drink where 'ere we go, singing fol the righty-o,
For we are hums and jolly good chums, we live like Royal Turks,
And if we've luck we'll hum our cheques and shoot the man who works.

So to conclude and finish, the remainder of my song,
The song that was proposed, me boys, by two professional hums.
Who travelled England, Ireland; all over Scotland too,
And took an oath in Bendigo, no more work they would do.

No more work they would do boys, troll old army dough boys,
Humming a drink where 'ere they could, sing fol the righty - o
For we are hums and jolly good chums, we live like Royal Turks,
And if we've luck we'll hum our cheques and shoot the man who works.


Warren Fahey collected this song from Harry Chaplin as well as a snippet of the same from Matron Williams, both from the Broken Hill area. Warren gives the following note with the lyrics:


Matron Williams knew a version of 'Three Jolly Lads Are We', which is a song that appeared in A B Paterson's 1905 collection of Old Bush Songs. The fact that I also collected a full text of the song from Harry Chaplin, also of Broken Hill, points to widespread popularity of the song in that particular district. The interesting aspect is that both versions differ considerably.

I've been unable to track down the original song in the version of Old Bush Songs to which I have access. Any help would be appreciated to round out this post.

The Mines of Australia

Unknown.


I sailed to the west with a schoolmate of mine
And together we shared the hard toil.
It was hard times at home that caused us to roam,
No work for the sons of the soil.
So I bade me old father and mother goodbye,
And I said I'll not be long away;
For ten years have passed, fortune's favoured at last
And I'm leaving Australia today.

I sailed to the west with a dear pal of mine,
Each having a share in one claim
And taking bad luck as it came with the rest,
And working on just the same
Til a cowardly blow struck my poor pal low,
Who struck him I never could tell;
But the share of his gold placed close to my heart
For mother and dear sister, Nell.

Well I'm going back to my dear old home
That's far away over the sea
Right back to the scenes of my childhood
Where there'll be a welcome for me
Well many's the year it has passed away
Since I left old England's shore,
And may God speed the vessel that carries me back
To my dear old home once more.

I sailed to the west with a schoolmate of mine
And together we shared the hard toil.
It was hard times at home that caused us to roam,
No work for the sons of the soil.
So I bade me old father and mother goodbye,
And I said I'll not be long away;
For ten years have passed, fortune's favoured at last
And I'm leaving Australia today.


Lyrics for this one from Mudcat:

On Kate Burke & Ruth Hazelton's album "Swapping Seasons" the notes for THE MINES OF AUSTRALIA say "Trad. arr K.Burke, L. Plumb & R. Hazleton. Collected by Warren Fahey from Cyril Duncan, 1973, Queensland."

Warren's own site has two verses of this song collected from "Mrs D Clarke"

A version of this song appears on the 1993 double CD, The Larrikin Sessions.


The illustration to this post is a photograph from the 1870s of "Simmons' (miners' office, mining agent, law agent and public accountant) and family outside his bark hut, Gulgong area, 1871-1875", American & Australasian Photographic Company. From the State Library of New South Wales collection.

Tram, Tram, Tram

Words: Unknown
Tune: George F Root (Tramp, Tramp, Tramp)



As we speed upon our way,
With our motors puffing gay,
We cheerily and deftly glide along;
And. we clear the course, you bet,
For we make the people "get,"
While this is still the burden of their song :—

Chorus: Tram, tram, tram the cars are coming;
Shriek, puff, jingle through the street;
And the motto, ' Save who can,' yells each bold equestri-an,
Each cart or carriage-driver that they meet.

When we make our whistle screech,
Folks for mercy may beseech,
As with speed of Derby-winners off they go ,
For their steeds we stimulate
To a pace would win a Plate,
And our metal fires the slowest of the slow! .

Chorus: Tram, tram, tram. etc

Now the circuses must fail
To draw box-ites or canaille—
They never can our gratis show surpass;
Every sawdust 'daring feat'
Is outrivalled in the street;
While to watch the riders antics beats a farce !

How our lungs we do exert
When we tumble in the dirt
Some fat old party climbing on a car ;
As he sprawls upon his back
Sure 'tis merry sport, good lack!
'Which our lively sense of humour cannot mar.

Folks may growl about the dust,
But then stir it up we must;
Whilst from smoke-stacks showers of burning ashes fly ;
How it makes a fellow prance,
An impromptu ' break-down' dance,
When he gets a fiery cinder in the eye!

Chorus: Tram, tram, tram. etc

Those who want to save their time
Don't admit our speed is prime ;
But of elegance and ease in praise we talk;
Time is made but for a slave,
So if that you want to save,
Why, hail the nearest omnibus, or—walk !

Chorus : Tram, tram, tram, etc

Our passengers we squeeze,
Little reckoning for their ease,
As we jam them helter-skelter, great and small;
Those who cannot sit may stand;
And tho' amusement waxes grand
When with sudden jerk we cause a headlong sprawl!

Chorus: Tram, tram, tram etc.

Sometimes—'tis true, alas !
That sometimes the trams must come to pass
And grim death, with scythe and hour-glass takes a hand;
With the 'Crowner' and his 'quest,
O'er the victim sent to rest
By this fiery Demon shrieking o'er the land !

Chorus: Than Tram, Tram, Tram,
The cars are coming
Shriek, puff, jingle through the street,
And the motto, “Save who can”, yells each bold equestrian,
Each cart or carriage-driver that they meet!


This magnificent parody of Tramp, Tramp, Tramp:The Prisoners' Hope is to be found on Warren Fahey's Australian Folklore Unit site. The original song was written in 1864 "to give hope to Unionist prisoners of war".