The Springtime It Brings On The Shearing

Oh, the springtime it brings on the shearing,
And it's then that you'll see them in droves,
To the west country stations all steering,
A-seeking a job off the coves.

cho: With my ragged old swag on my shoulder
And a billy quart-pot in my hand,
I tell you we'll astonish the new chums
To see how we travel the land.

You may talk of your mighty exploring,
Of Landsborough, McKinley, and King;
But I feel it should only be boring
On such frivolous subjects to sing.

For discovering mountains and rivers
There's one for a gallon I'd back,
Who'll beat all your Stuarts to shivers:
It's the man on the wallaby track.

From Billabone, Murray, and Loddon
To far Tatiara and back
The hills and the plains are well trodden
By the men on the wallaby track.

Oh, and after the shearing is over
And the wool season's all at an end,
It is then that you'll see those flash shearers
Making johnny-cakes round in the bend.



One of the more popular old Australian songs. As well as being recorded by many Australian performers, this song was also included on Burl Ive's Australian Folk Songs album in 1958.


The following notes are from the liner notes for this song from Gary Shearston's CD re-release of earlier recordings "Here and There: Now and Then".

One of the best known of all Australian folk songs, this was collected in Victoria by Dr. Percy Jones. John Meredith found a rather different version in New South Wales, and most of Dr. Jones' words turn up in some verses called The Wallaby Track, which were published by a bush poet called E.J. Overbury in 1865. Maybe some bush singer read Overbury's words and set some of them to a tune; that was a common habit with bush singers. Maybe Overbury heard a bush song, and took some of the words into one of his own poems; that was a common habit with bush poets.

coves: station managers or owners.

billy quart pot: an indispensable item of the bush nomads' gear; a can, here of quart capacity, in which water could be boiled and food cooked.

new-chums: newly arrived immigrants.

Flash shearers making johnny-cakes round in the bend: a contrast in the lot of the shearer at different seasons of the year is implied; during the shearing season he is fl ash (shows an exaggerated sense of his own importance), because he is earning good wages and respect for his skill; when the shearing season is over, and he is unemployed, he is reduced to camping out in the open by some river bend, and living on a diet consisting mainly of camp-made bread (a johnny cake is, roughly speaking, a kind of small damper).

Note: from the original album notes by Edgar Waters, supplemented by Stuart Heather.

Bound For Van Diemen's Land

Trad/Purdon/Boyes

Tune: traditional

Arrangement: Coope, Boyes and Simpson/Thompson

Come all you gallant poachers,
That ramble void of care,
That walk out on a moonlight night
With dog and gun and snare.
By the keepers of the land, my boys,
One night we were trepanned,
And for fourteen years transported
Unto Van Dieman's land.

Chorus:
Bound for Van Dieman's land, brave boys,
Far, far across the sea;
If you don't stand with cap in hand,
Transported you will be.

And as we sail, blows wild the gale,
Dark shadows guard the grill;
They try in vain our minds to chain,
Our thoughts of freedom kill,
And as we sulk in convict hulk,
Aye, shackled feet and hand,
But men be free who poachers be
Bound for Van Dieman's land.

Oh, if I had a thousand pounds
All laid out in my hand,
I'd give it all for liberty
If that I could command;
Once more to Ireland I'd return,
And be a happy man,
And bid adieu to poaching
And to Van Dieman's Land.



The second verse is from Jock Purdon's version of the song, which was arranged by Coope Boyes and Simpson to the tune used here (Jock of Hazledean) and the chorus added. The first and third verses are from better-known traditional versions. The end result falls somewhere between fakesong and the folk process in action. I include it here as a song worth singing. Lots of discussion and various versions to be found here. The full lyrics to Jock Purdon's variation are on Mudcat.

Justice On The Mines

Another anonymous gem from the Big Book Of Australian Folk Songs.




The day it was wet and the court it had met
And His Worship was lively and free
The courthouse a shanty, and Constable Lanty
Had the prisoner chained to a tree

"What's the case?" asked His Worship, as backward he leant
While his pipe he was comfortably lighting
Is it murder, or robbing with dire intent?
"No, Your Worship. This fella's been fighting"

"Fighting, indeed, to make men's noses bleed.
This indeed is a trifle too frisky
Lanty just go to the pub down below,
And bring me a good nip of whisky"

The constable went on his mission intent
And came back, to His Worship's great joy
But his hand it came down as he said with a frown
"You've watered it, Lanty, my boy"

"I can do that myself and the whisky itself
Is not my old tap, you know well
You may think that I'm tight, but I'll prove I'm all right
As this verdict will presently tell."

"You see the mail-coach has just come into town
Take the prisoner and into it bang him
From the place where he stands. Mind, obey my commands.
From the coach take him and hang him!"

"But, Your Worship! The case is assault at the most
You really don't mean what you say
Consider the case in some other place
And the verdict, please give us next day"

"Don't know what I mean! Take that, you spalpeen"
Said the Court, as in fury it rose
His right hand at once grasped the constable's sconce
While his left struck him full on the nose

A scuffle ensued twixt the trap and the beak
The diggers came round them delighted
They'd have seen the thing through if it lasted a week
'Til the quarrel was properly righted

At length it was over, and thoroughly sober
His Worship, to put them a fright in
Set the prisoner free, who was chained to a tree
On paying two guineas for fighting.


Recorded with Steve Cook on guitar.

The Maid of Australia

More a song about an imagined Australia than a true song of this land, but I thought I'd stretch the theme today. (It's also unlikely that the relationship unfolded in this way outside the imagination of the author).

Trad.





As I walked down by the Oxborough Banks
Where the maids of Australia do play their wild pranks,
By a shady green bower I sat myself down,
Where the birds sang so gaily, enchanting all round
In the forest of native Australia,
In the forest of native Australia,
Where the maidens are handsome and gay.

Oh I had not been long at that beautiful scene
Where the fields are delightful, the trees evergreen,
When a lovely young damsel to me did appear.
From the banks of the river she quickly drew near,
She's a native of happy Australia,
She's a native of happy Australia,
Where the maidens are handsome and gay.

She tore off her clothes and before me she stood
As naked as Venus just come from the flood.
She looked me in the face and smiling said she,
“This is the robe that nature gave me
On the day I was born in Australia,
On the day I was born in Australia,
Where the maidens are handsome and gay.”

She leapt in the water without fear or dread,
Her beautiful limbs she quickly outspread,
Her hair hung in ringlets, her colour was black,
“Kind sir, you can see how I swim on my back
In the stream of my native Australia,
In the stream of my native Australia,
Where the maidens are handsome and gay.”

Being tired of swimming she came to the bank,
“Assistance, kind sir, or I surely shall sink.”
Like lightning I flew, took her out by the hand,
My footing I lost and we fell on the sand.
She took me to the bush of Australia,
She took me to the bush of Australia,
Where the maidens are handsome and gay.

Oh we sported together in the highest of glee,
In the fairest Australia you ever did see.
My hair to her beautiful breast was inclined
Till the sun in the west all its glories resigned
To this beautiful maid of Australia,
To this beautiful maid of Australia,
Where the maidens are handsome and gay.


These notes from Mainly Norfolk:

[Roud 1872 ; trad.]

Harry Cox sang The Maid of Australia on the anthology Songs of Seduction (The Folk Songs of Britain Volume 2; Caedmon 1961; Topic 1968), and in another recording by Leslie Shephard in Catfield, Norfolk, on October 9, 1965. That one was included in 1996 on the Topic anthology Hidden English: A Celebration of English Traditional Music, and in 2000 on his Topic CD box, The Bonny Labouring Boy. Steve Roud commented in the latter's sleeve notes:

This song of male wish-fulfilment has only rarely been reported in Britain—perpaps its risque subject-matter kept it out of collector's notebooks, but it is pretty mild by modern standards. The fact that all three known English versions are from East Anglian singers—Walter Pardon and Sam Larner being the other two—is most probably a coincidence. It is reported only once from Canada, but several times in the USA (see Guy Logsdon, The Whorehouse Bells Were Ringing, 1989).

Peter Bellamy recorded The Maid of Australia during the sessions for his 1979 Topic LP, Both Sides Then, but it was left out and didn't find its way onto it before the CD reissue in 1992. The recording was included, however, on his 1983 cassette Fair Annie: English, Irish, Australian and American Traditional Songs, on the 1986 Fellside anthology Flash Company, and in 1999 on Free Reed's Peter Bellamy anthology, Wake the Vaulted Echoes.

Martin Carthy sang The Maid of Australia on Brass Monkey's fifth album Flame of Fire; this track was reissued on the anthology Evolving Tradition 4. He commented in the former record's sleeve notes:

I think of Maid of Australia as a sweet piece of Pre-Raphaelite fantasy and I think that it's true to say that it has only ever been found in Norfolk. What's sung here is a mixture of versions of Harry Cox and Walter Pardon, and according to the latter, the song was forbidden in certain pubs. The late and much lamented Peter Bellamy was the first person I heard actually singing it so there is a very large dollop of him to be found here. And thank him very much.


Mainly Norfolk also gives three alternative lyrics. I have chosen the Martin Carthy lyrics to my own arrangement.

The Cane-cutter's Lament

From Ron Edwards' "Big Book of Australian Folk Songs"



How we suffered grief and pain
On the banks of the Barron cutting cane
We sweated blood we were as black as sin
And the ganger he put the spur right in

The greasy cook with sore-eyed look
And the matter all stuck to his lashes
He damned our souls with his half baked rolls
And he'd poison the snakes with his hashes

The first six weeks so help me Christ
We lived on cheese and half boiled rice
Mouldy bread and cats meat stew
And corn beef that the flies had blew

The cane was bad the cutters were mad
The cook had shit on the liver
And I'll never cut cane for that bastard again
On the banks of the Barron River

So now I'm leaving that lousy place
I'll cut no more for that bugger
He can stand in the mud that's red as blood
And cut his own bloody sugar



Collected by Ron Edwards from Stan Dean (and others) of Cairns, who said it was based on an old hymn. Ron Edwards writes "This ballad is known all along the coast and the second line was altered to fit different areas 'On the Isis', 'On the banks of the Herbert' etc." (Notes from Mudcat. The Barron River is a major waterway in the cane-growing area of North Queensland.

Bill From Erskineville

By John Dengate



I'm pleased to meet you, my name's Bill,
I'm working in a factory in Erskinville.
You have to crawl and conditions are a crime
But you get a few dollars worth of overtime.
Hooray, ain't life grand;
I'm saving the deposit on a block of land.

I met a young fellow selling real estate -
He's running from the coppers in another state.
And he's the friend of a generous gent
Who's lending money at twenty percent.
Hooray, life's a lark;
I'm swimmin' in the water with a finance shark.

I had a couple of dollars on a short-priced horse
Running in a welter on the Rosehill course
But too much weight and too little pace
And the bugger finished twelfth in a twelve-horse race.
Hooray, faithful nag;
Ferryin' the money to the bookie's bag.

I had a little flutter on the poker machines
And I won a dollar forty when it paid three Queens,
So I chases the aces around the wheels
Now I can't afford the money for to pay for meals.
Hooray, feed the slot;
Haul upon the handle till you lose the lot.

Lottery tickets have me up shit creek;
I was twenty off a five-dollar prize last week.
The tyres on my car are all worn through
And the registration's overdue.
Hooray, hip-hurrah
For a worn-out, second-hand Holden car.

I said to my wife, "We've reached the stage
Where we cannot manage on a single wage."
Now she pulls beer in the pub saloon
And the kids run wild in the afternoon.
Hooray, name your brand,
I'm drinkin' the deposit for a block of land.

I'm pleased to meet you, my name's Bill
I'm working in a factory in Erskineville


Used with the kind permission of the author. John recalls writing this song in 1972 or 1973, when it won a song-writing competition run by the Newcastle Trades and Labour Council. A well-known identity on the Australian folk scene, John continues to write and to busk around Sydney. The National Library of Australia holds some great recordings of both his songs and biographical interviews (link). I learnt this one from the singing of Glen Donald.

Past Carin'

Words: Henry Lawson
Music: Steve Ashley



Now up and down the siding brown
The great black crows are flyin',
And down below the spur, I know,
Another `milker's' dyin';
The crops have withered from the ground,
The tank's clay bed is glarin',
But from my heart no tear nor sound,
For I have gone past carin' —
Past worryin' or carin',
Past feelin' aught or carin';
But from my heart no tear nor sound,
For I have gone past carin'.

Through Death and Trouble, turn about,
Through hopeless desolation,
Through flood and fever, fire and drought,
And slavery and starvation;
Through childbirth, sickness, hurt, and blight,
And nervousness an' scarin',
Through bein' left alone at night,
I've got to be past carin'.
Past botherin' or carin',
Past feelin' and past carin';
Through city cheats and neighbours' spite,
I've come to be past carin'.

Our first child took, in days like these,
A cruel week in dyin',
All day upon her father's knees,
Or on my poor breast lyin';
The tears we shed — the prayers we said
Were awful, wild — despairin'!
I've pulled three through, and buried two
Since then — and I'm past carin'.
I've grown to be past carin',
Past worryin' and wearin';
I've pulled three through and buried two
Since then, and I'm past carin'.

'Twas ten years first, then came the worst,
All for a dusty clearin',
I thought, I thought my heart would burst
When first my man went shearin';
He's drovin' in the great North-west,
I don't know how he's farin';
For I, the one that loved him best,
Have grown to be past carin'.
I've grown to be past carin'
Past lookin' for or carin';
The girl that waited long ago,
Has lived to be past carin'.

My eyes are dry, I cannot cry,
I've got no heart for breakin',
But where it was in days gone by,
A dull and empty achin'.
My last boy ran away from me,
I know my temper's wearin',
But now I only wish to be
Beyond all signs of carin'.
Past wearyin' or carin',
Past feelin' and despairin';
And now I only wish to be
Beyond all signs of carin'.


I first heard this song in the mid-80's being performed by Lonnie Martin as part of the La Boite production of The Kelly Dance, a play by John Romeril, in Brisbane.

The words were first published in the Australian Magazine, Sydney, 30th May, 1899.

While at first I was unclear as to the origin of the tune (mistakenly believing like many others that it originated from either Mara Keik or Phyl Lobl) the writer of the tune has been in touch. Steve Ashley wrote this tune for the Bushwackers after they met up in Rotterdam back in the late seventies, along with three other Lawson settings (Freedom On The Wallaby, Old Joe Swallow and Faces In The Street), all of which can be found in the Second Bushwackers Songbook.