I've worked around this country at many a different trade, But I cannot show a penny of the money I have made; So if you'll pay attention, a song I'll sing to you, About a young apprentice in nineteen-fify-two.
I started in a factory, 'twas early in the year, But by the end of April some things were very clear -- The orders were all cancelled, the work was getting slack, And so to cut expenses they gave five of us the sack.
As I was but a single man, it didn't worry me, The married men were hardest hit, but the worst was yet to be, An apprentice in his final year was robbed of all his pay, Some dingo stole it from him in the dressing room that day.
The police came round next morning, and made an awful fuss, And we were under notice so they thought 'twas one of us, They didn't find who stole it but five men shared the blame, I was glad that we were leaving, for I was filled with shame.
So listen all you people, don't steal a workmate's pay, But if you want more money, there is another way, If you back up your union, you'll get your just demands, And thieving from the working man will vanish from the land.
From the Bush Music Club's Singabout, Volume 2, Number 4, May 1958.
Me name is Bobby Ambelet, to Glasgow I belong, I've just stepped in among you all to sing to you a song I've travelled about the counteree to places of renown. But now I'm anchored hard and fast In the hut that's upside down.
REFRAIN: The cook he danced the Highland fling, Oh, laddie plays the lute; The little boy from Burraway, He played upon the flute. Scotty sings "The Mulberry Tree" And all dull care is flown, We're happy as larks out in the park, In the hut that's upside down.
The shearing, it has now begun, the machines are doing well, The little shears, they go "click-click", and the wool rolls off pell-mell, The tramway runs around the board, the boys are flying 'round, And the cook is lashing the brownie out, In the hut that's upside down.
At night we pass the hours away at euchre, nap and bluff, Some will rhyme to kill their time, while others blow their stuff, There was prime roast beef for dinner, and the duff was served around; We're getting as fat as poisoned pups In the hut that's upside down.
The other night I went to read and went to sleep quite sound, I thought the hut was all "a-jee" and I was on the ground, When I awoke to my surprise, the boys were standing round, And gave three cheers for Willie the cook, In the hut that's upside down.
From Authentic Australian Bush Ballads, edited by John Meredith and Alan Scott for the Bush Music Club.
Collected from Mary and Tom Byrnes and published with the following note:
A shearer's song composed at the time when machine shearing was first introduced. It gives a good description of life in the men's hut after the day's work was over.
The illustration to this post is a wood engraving, SHEARERS' HUT AT NIGHT TIME (December 26, 1884) from the State Library of Victoria collection.
Our fathers came in search of gold, the claim that proved a duffer The syndicates, the banks, went broke and so we had to suffer, We're all for freedom for ourselves, ourselves and mates of toil, Australia's on the wallaby and the billy's on the boil.
CHORUS Australia's on the wallaby oh listen to the cooee The kangaroo he packs his port and the emu shoulders Bluey The boomerangs are whizzing round, the dingo scratches gravel The possum, bear and bandicoot are always on the travel.
With old tiger snakes and damper sizzling on the coals, The droughts and floods and ragged duds and dried up waterholes Oh sun-scorched plains where shade is not, they're asking us to toil, Australia's sons are weary and the billy's on the boil.
The kooka calls the bats and now the black duck and the shag, The the mallee hen and the platypus are rolling up their swags, The curlew waves his last goodbye beside some long lagoon And the brolga does his last gay waltz to the lyre-bird's mocking tune
From Authentic Australian Bush Ballads (ed John Meredith and Alan Scott). Accompanied by the following note:
A depression song from Northern Queensland which probably only dates back to the 1930s.
The illustration to this post is a watercolour, On the Wallaby Track, painted in 1913 by Antonio Dattilo-Rubbo (1870-1955) and held by the Manly Art Gallery & Museum.
All you on emigration bent, With home and England discontent, Come listen to my sad lament About the bush of Australia.
CHORUS:: Illawarra, Mittagong, Parramatta, Wollongong, If you wish to become an orang-outang Well, go to the bush of Australia.
Once I possessed a thousand pounds, Says I to meself how grand it sounds, For a man to be farming his own grounds In the promising land of Australia.
When coming out the ship got lost, In a very sad plight we reached the coast, And very nearly made a roast For the savages of Australia.
Escaped from thence I lighted on A fierce bushranger with his gun, Who borrowed my garments, every one, For himself in the bush of Australia.
Sydney town we reached at last, Says I to meself, all danger's passed, Now I'll make me fortune fast In the promising land of Australia.
So off I went with cash in hand, Upon the map I bought my land, But found it naught but barren sand When I got to the bush of Australia.
Of sheep I got a famous lot; Some died of hunger, some of rot, But the divil a lot of rain we got In this promising land of Australia.
My convicts, they were always drunk, And kept me in a mighty funk, Says I to meself as to bed I sunk, I wish I were out of Australia.
Of ills I've had enough, you'll own, But something else my woes to crown, One night my bark hut tumbled down And settled me in Australia.
Of cash and homestead thus bereft, The ruddy spot I gladly left, Making it over by deed of gift To the savages of Australia.
Now stones upon the road I break, And earn my seven bob a week. 'Tis better surely than the freak Of settling down in Australia.
Credited to Muriel Whalan in Meredith and Scott's Authentic Australian Bush Ballads which dates this song to the early 19th Century and notes the use at the time of aboriginal words in "nonsense" choruses.
Ye sons of Australia forget not your braves, Bring the wild forest flowers to strew o'er your graves. Of the four daring outlaws whose race it is run, And place on their tombs the wild laurels they've won.
On the banks of Euroa they made their first rush, They cleared out at Coppies, then steered through the bush, Black trackers and troopers soon did them pursue But cast out their anchor when near them they drew.
The daring Kate Kelly how noble her mien As she sat on her horse like an Amazon queen, She rode through the forest revolver at hand, Regardless of danger, who dare bid her stand.
May the angels protect this young heroine bold And her name be recorded in letters of gold, Though her brothers were outlaws, she loved them most dear, And hastened to tell them when danger was near.
But the great God of Mercy who scans all out ways Commanded grim death to shorten their days. Straightway to Glenrowan their course he did steer To slay those bold outlaws and stop their career.
The daring Ned Kelly came forth from the inn, To wreak his last vengeance he then did begin, To slaughter the troopers straightway he did go, And tore up the railway their train to o'erthrow.
But the great God of Mercy, to baulk his intent, And stop the destruction, a messenger sent, A person named Curnow, who seemed in great dread, Cried out to the troopers, 'There's danger ahead!'
But Time hath its changes; how dreadful their fate. They found out their error when it was too late, The house was surrounded by troopers two-score, And also expected a great many more.
The daring Ned Kelly, revolver in hand, Came to the verandah, the troopers he scanned, Said he "You curs'd wretches, we do you defy, We will not surrender, we conquer or die."
Like the free sons of Ishmael, brought up in the wilds, Amongst forests and mountains, and rocky defiles These brave lawless fellows could not be controlled, And fought ten to one, until death we are told.
Next day at Glenrowan, how dreadful the doom, Of Hart and Dan Kelly shut up in a room, A trooper named Johnson, set the house all aflame To burn those bold outlaws, it was a great shame
The daring Kate Kelly came forth from the crowd And on her poor brother she called out aloud, "Come forth my dear brother, and fight while you can" But a ball had just taken the life of poor Dan.
Next morning our hero came forth from the bush Encased in strong armour his way did he push. To gain his bold comrades it was his desire - The troopers espied him, and soon opened fire.
The bullets bound off him just like a stone wall, His fiendish appearance soon did them appal. His legs unprotected a trooper soon found, And a shot well directed brought him to the ground.
Now he arose captured, and stripped off his mail, Well guarded by troopers and taken to gaol. Convicted for murder, it grieved him full sore, His friends and relations his fate may deplore.
Now, all you young fellows take warning by me, Beware of bushranging, and bad company, For like many others you may feel the dart Which pierced the two Kellys, Joe Byrne, and Steve Hart.
From Stewart & Keesing's Australian Bush Ballads. Another version of the same poem, entitled "Ye sons of Australia, forget not your braves" appeared in John Meredith's Six Authentic Songs from the Kelly Country (Sydney, 1955) with the attribution "First published by "The Bulletin", and acknowledgement was made to "Mrs Gladys Scrivener, Erskineville (NSW) for the tune, and Mr J.K.Moir, Melbourne, for the words". The tune is also attributed to Gladys Scrivener in Authentic Australian Bush Ballads, edited by John Meredith and Alan Scott "for the Bush Music Club", published by the Southern Music Publishing Company in 1960.
