The Ballad of Johnny Golden

Words: Sigerson Clifford
Tune: John Thompson




Let Kerry's sons remember well the men who marched alone
As they tramped the hills and mountains to bring Caitlín her throne.
It was in 1867 when O'Connor did command
And by his side the man who died out in Van Diemen's land.

First at Kells Station they drew rein to face Coastguard Dingwall
And to take from him his rifle, his powder and his ball.
He said, "This is a bad nightís work for any rebel band
And you'll all face transportation unto Van Diemen's land".

They said, "We do not fight alone for Ireland is aflame
And men are marching on the hills to spoil a Saxon game.
Like Mitchell and like Smith O'Brien we'll fight and take our stand
And if we fail we'll risk the jail or face Van Diemen's land".

At Drung Hill then beside the bridge they shot a policeman down
And searching in his pockets found a letter to the Crown.
O'Connor read and grimly said, "We can't fight now as planned
And may God keep us in his care far from Van Diemen's land".

And Talbot, Massy, Corydon where are you all today?
Your hearts you sold for English gold and you swore their lives away.
In Tralee town the judge looked down upon that rebel band
And he sentenced Johnny Golden to far Van Diemen's land.

O'Reilly, Griffin, Donovan, O'Connell and O'Shea,
Conway, Sheehan and O'Brien their names are strong today.
They're masters in their own house now; they plough and till the land
But brave young Johnny Golden lies in Van Diemen's Land.

For he sleeps today where lonely waves wash over Australia's shore
And never again he'll see the glen of lovely sweet Foilmore.
But Foilmore's sons remember well that gallant Fenian band
And forget not Johnny Golden out in Van Diemen's land.




Notes from Tim Dennehy's website:
John Golden (1844-1883) came from Foilmore, Kells near Cahersiveen and took part in the premature Fenian Rising of February 12th 1867. He was captured, sentenced to five years penal servitude, placed on board the Hougoumont and shipped to Fremantle Prison, Australia. After his release he settled in New South Wales where he married Ellen Feehan and they had seven children. He died on September 7th 1883 aged thirty-six years.

(The Hougoumont was the ship which brought the Fenian rebels to Australia who were later to escape on the Catalpa.)

Ned Kelly Was Born In A Ramshackle Hut

Anonymous.



Ned Kelly was born in a ramshackle hut,
He battled since he was a kid,
He grew up with duffers and bad men and thieves
And learned all the things that they did.

Ned Kelly would ride from the back-country hills,
He'd ride into town like a lord,
He'd steal all the squatters' fine horses, and then
He would take them back for the reward.

At sixteen young Ned was a wild, reckless lad,
Helped hold up a coach without fear,
But he was arrested, remanded, and then,
They put him in gaol for a year.

When he came out, he was bitter and hard,
Far worse than he ever had been,
He robbed and he plundered, became a wild boy,
The wildest Australia had seen.

He shot down the troopers who came on his track,
And laughed at the price on his head,
Ten thousand pounds for the whole of the gang,
And two thousand pounds just for Ned.

The bank at Jerilderie next took his eye,
This job brought him lots of renown,
He wasn't contented to stick up the bank,
But he held up the whole flaming town.

Down at Glenrowan they held up the pub,
They were having a drink and a song,
The troopers rode up and surrounded the place,
The Kellys had waited too long.

Ned came out shooting, a gun in each hand,
And wearing his armour of steel,
He was fifteen times wounded before he fell down,
Never more would he plunder and steal.

They took him to Melbourne, and nursed him to health,
The Judge said, 'You're guilty!' to Ned,
A rope from a rafter, the sun in the east,
And the famous Ned Kelly was dead.

Some say he's a hero who gave to the poor,
While others 'A killer!' they say,
It just goes to show the old saying is true,
The saying that 'Crime does not pay.'

Yet when I look round at some people I know,
And the prices of things that I buy,
I say to myself, 'Well, perhaps after all,
Poor Ned wasn't such a bad guy.'


From the Original Bushwhackers and Bullockies Band -"The Shearer's Dream" LP 1980.

The Old Palmer Song

Trad.


The wind is fair and free, my boys, the wind is fair and free
The steamer's course is north, my boys, and the Palmer we will see
The Palmer we will see, my boys, and Cooktown's muddy shore
Where I've been told there's lots of gold, so stay down south no more

Chorus
So, blow ye winds, heigho
A-digging we will go
I'll stay no more down south, my boys
So let the music play
In spite of what I'm told
I'm off in search of gold
I'll make a push for that new rush
A thousand miles away

They say the blacks are troublesome, and spear both horse and man
The rivers are all wide and deep, no bridges them do span
No bridges them do span, my boys, and so you'll have to swim
But never fear the yarns you hear, and gold you're sure to win

So let us make a move, my boys, for that new promised land
And do the best we can, my boys, to lend a helping hand
To lend a helping hand, my boys, where the soil is rich and new
In spite of the blacks and unknown tracks, we'll show what we can do



The Palmer River gold rush took place in 1872. While treated lightly in this song, historians of the time refer to a state of "open warfare" between the indigenous inhabitants of the area and the newly-arrived gold-miners.

To the tune of Ten Thousand Miles Away.

The Stockman's Last Bed

Trad.



Be ye stockmen or no, to my story give ear.
Alas! for poor Jack, no more shall we hear
The crack of his stockwhip, his steed's lively trot,
His clear "Go ahead, boys," his jingling quart pot.

Chorus
For we laid him where wattles their sweet fragrance shed,
And the tall gum trees shadow the stockman's last bed.

Whilst drafting one day, he was horned by a cow.
"Alas!", cried poor Jack. "It's all up with me now!
For I never again shall my saddle regain,
Or bound like a wallaby over the plain."

His whip it is silent, his dogs, they do mourn;
His steed looks in vain for his master's return.
No friend to bemoan him, unheeded he dies.
Save Australia's dark sons no one knows where he lies.

Now, stockmen, if ever on some future day,
After the wild mob you happen to stray,
Ride softly the creek beds where trees make a shade,
For perhaps it's the spot where poor Jack's bones are laid.


From the Queensland Native Companion Songster (1865). Recorded by Burl Ives on his 1958 album, Australian Folk Songs.

Time is a Tempest/Travelling Through The Storm

John Broomhall/additional lyrics by John Thompson



Time is a tempest and we are all travellers
We are all travellers, we are all travellers
Time is a tempest and we are all travellers
Travelling through the storm.

Our cities are crowded, our forests are falling
War clouds above, angry voices are calling
Five minutes to midnight, there's no time for stalling
It's time to share our load.

So lift up your voices and sing of the wind and rain
Sing of the wind and rain, sing of the wind and rain
Lift up your voices and sing of the wind and rain
Travelling through the storm.

Time is a tempest and we are all travellers
We are all travellers, we are all travellers
Time is a tempest and we are all travellers
Travelling through the storm.


One of my favourite contemporary Australian folk songs. Learnt from the Keith McKenry/Alan Scott recording "Travelling Through The Storm" in 1997. Alan only sang the first two verses on the album and so I wrote the third verse, later recording it with Martin Pearson on Never the Twain: Live at the Pod.

I've subsequently recorded it twice more with Nicole Murray on cloudstreet albums (Dance Up The Sun and Clouds on the Road. The recording above is from the second of these CDs, recorded live in Brisbane at the Judith Wright Centre for Contemporary Arts, with the help of Rebecca Wright, Belinda Ford and an enthusiastic audience of singers.

The Catalpa

Trad.



A noble whale ship and commander
Called the Catalpa, they say
Came out to Western Australia
And took six poor Fenians away

Chorus
So come all you screw warders and jailers
Remember Perth regatta day
Take care of the rest of your Fenians
Or the Yankees will steal them away

Seven long years had they served here
And seven long more had to stay
For defending their country Old Ireland
For that they were banished away

You kept them in Western Australia
Till their hair began to turn grey
When a Yank from the States of America
Came out here and stole them away

Now all the Perth boats were a-racing
And making short tacks for the spot
But the Yankee she tacked into Fremantle
And took the best prize of the lot

The Georgette armed with bold warriors
Went out the poor Yanks to arrest
But she hoisted her star-spangled banner
Saying you'll not board me I guess

So remember those six Fenians colonial
And sing o'er these few verses with skill
And remember the Yankee that stole them
And the home that they left on the hill

Now they've landed safe in America
And there will be able to cry
Hoist up the green flag and shamrock
Hurrah for old Ireland we'll die



Notes

The Catalpa tells the story of the 1876 rescue from the West Australian convict settlement of six convicts. Wikipedia has a fair summary of the story here, and you'll find some excellent images and account of the history on the Voices of the Outback site.

The tune used here is a variation of Rosin the Bow.

Recorded in Fremantle.

Farewell to Greta

Trad:




Farewell my home in Greta now my sisters fare thee well
It breaks my heart that we must part but here I dare not dwell
The brand of Cain is on my brow my hands are stained with gore
So I must roam in future years throughout the Australian shore

Even now the price is on my head and bloodhounds on my trail
All for the sake of gaining gold my freedom they assail
But if they cross or check my path by all I hold on earth
I'll give them cause to rue the day their mothers gave them birth

I'll shoot them down like kangaroos that roam our country wide
And leave their bodies bleaching upon some woodland side
A prey to every prowling bird the hawk and carrion crow
It's thus I'd serve each the cowardly curs who'd cause my overthrow

Oh Edward dearest brother you know you should not go
All for to be encountered by such a mighty foe
You know the country well dear Ned go take your comrades there
And profit by your knowledge of the wombat and the bear

To eastward lies great Morgan's tower and reaching to the sky
North-east by east the mighty range of Gippsland's mountains lie
Three troopers came a riding one kiss before we part
Now haste and join your three comrades Dan, Joe and Stevie Hart



The first song on this blog regarding the bushranger, Ned Kelly. The song recounts an imagined conversation between Kelly and his sister before the Kelly gang's gun battle with police at Stringbark Creek, in which 3 troopers were killed.

From the "Australian Folk Song" site:
In Stewart & Keesing's Old Bush Songs a note says this song was collected by Max Brown from Mrs Barry, of Beechworth, Victoria, and said to have been sung about 1879. This tune was collected from Mrs C. Peatey of Brunswick by Norm O'Connor and R. Michell of The Folk Lore Society of Victoria in 1959, and printed in Gumsuckers' Gazette , Sept. 1963.