It's sign-on day at the Dance Palais
And we're down to a quid or two
But we'll cut a quick ton if you give us the run
And we'll see the season through
Chorus:
You can have Maria,
Sophia and Madelaine,
But we'll take the sugar
That comes from sugarcane
We've cut down on the rivers
And up at Mossman too,
But give us the cane with the Herbert strain
And we'll see the season through
The ganger is a gun, me boys,
The cook can make a stew,
If he drops the cane inspector in,
We'll see the season through
Our hands are raw, but two bob more
Will make them seem like new,
If we get enough pay we'll cut all day
'Til we see the season through
There's grog of sorts in other parts,
But Cairns has got the brew
That we'll drink and drink and drink and drink
When we've seen the season through
From Ron Edwards Great Australian Folk Songs. "Learnt from Bill Oliver, Redlynch, North Queensland, 1960. The song refers to signing on for work on the cane-fields near Cairns. Signing-on would often take place at a local hall, in this case The Grand Palais.
They say that I never have written of love, As a writer of songs should do; They say that I never could touch the strings With a touch that is firm and true; They say I know nothing of women and men In the fields where Love's roses grow, And they say I must write with a halting pen Do you think that I do not know?
When the love-burst came, like an English Spring, In days when our hair was brown, And the hem of her skirt was a sacred thing And her hair was an angel's crown. The shock when another man touched her arm, Where the dancers sat round in a row; The hope and despair, and the false alarm Do you think that I do not know?
By the arbour lights on the western farms, You remember the question put, While you held her warm in your quivering arms And you trembled from head to foot. The electric shock from her finger tips, And the murmuring answer low, The soft, shy yielding of warm red lips Do you think that I do not know?
She was buried at Brighton, where Gordon sleeps, When I was a world away; And the sad old garden its secret keeps, For nobody knows to-day. She left a message for me to read, Where the wild wide oceans flow; Do you know how the heart of a man can bleed Do you think that I do not know?
I stood by the grave where the dead girl lies, When the sunlit scenes were fair, And the white clouds high in the autumn skies, And I answered the message there. But the haunting words of the dead to me Shall go wherever I go. She lives in the Marriage that Might Have Been Do you think that I do not know?
They sneer or scoff, and they pray or groan, And the false friend plays his part. Do you think that the blackguard who drinks alone Knows aught of a pure girl's heart? Knows aught of the first pure love of a boy With his warm young blood aglow, Knows aught of the thrill of the world-old joy Do you think that I do not know?
They say that I never have written of love, They say that my heart is such That finer feelings are far above; But a writer may know too much. There are darkest depths in the brightest nights, When the clustering stars hang low; There are things it would break his strong heart to write Do you think that I do not know?
From Skyline Riders and Other Verses
TO MY FRIENDS
THESE are songs of the Friends I neglected-- And the Foes, too, in part; These are songs that were mostly rejected-- But songs from my heart.
Yours truly, HENRY LAWSON. Sydney, 19/9/'10.
You will find the book reproduced (including the excellent introduction) at Project Gutenberg.
Unknown. (collected by Ron Edwards from Mick Dolan who learnt it near Cooktown in the early 20th century).
Kind friends come gather round me And a song I'll sing to you, About poor Alec Robertson, A sportsman brave and true. Some say it was young Dowland's fault, However it's too late, The horses fell, and life has fled, The jockey's met his fate.
Go tell my dear old mother, Who lives down in Geelong, That Joe's been badly wounded, By the jockeys who rode wrong. My head does ache, my sides do pain, I feel I am insane, If God would only spare me, I'd see mother once again.
'Twas the railing horse that came down first, He got a nasty fall, Then up came poor old Silvermine, And tumbled over all, His death was caused by Valentine, And there the jockey lay, They raised his head e'er life had fled, And these are the words he said.
'Tis a hobby of all boys out here, A jockey for to be, To ride a horse, to scale the course, They do no danger see. It's right enough but for a while, To ride for a big sum, But when the news comes home to say, A mother's lost her son.
From The Queenslander, 21 July 1888: A graceful tribute of respect (says the Sydney Mail) has been paid to the memory of the late Alec Robertson by Mr. William Cooper, to whose order a handsome monument has been erected over the last resting-place of the deceased jockey in Waverley cemetery. It consists of a marble cross, artistically wreathed with floral embellishments, and supported on a massive bluestone base.
The plinth bears the following inscription — "In memory of Alec Robertson, aged 27, who was accidentally killed at Randwick on January 2, 1888, whilst riding Silvermine in Tattersall's Cup. This memorial was erected by William Cooper as a mark of esteem and respect."
Farewell to Old England forever
Farewell to my old pals as well
Farewell to the well known Old Bailee
Where I once used to be such a swell
Chorus:
Singing too-rall, li-oo-rall, li-ad-di-ty,
Singing too-rall, li-oo-rall, li-ay,
Singing too-rall, li-oo-rall, li-ad-di-ty
Oh we are bound for Botany Bay.
There's the captain as is our commandeer,
There's bo'sun and all the ship's crew
There's first and the second class passengers,
Knows what we poor convicts goes through
'Taint leaving Old England we cares about,
'Taint 'cos we mispells wot we knows
But becos all we light finger'd gentry
Hop's around with a log on our toes.
Oh had I the wings of a turtle-dove,
I'd soar on my pinions so high,
Slap bang to the arms of my Polly love,
And in her sweet presence I'd die
Now all my young Dookies and Duchesses,
Take warning from what I've to say,
Mind all is your own as you touch-es-es,
Or you'll find us in Botany Bay,
I've sailed the North Atlantic, where ice blows in the breeze. And roamed the Dutch West Indies in the calm blue sunny seas. When I think of ships and seamen, my thoughts return again To a season spent in Moreton Bay with Queensland whaling men.
Chorus: Sing ho, you Queensland whalers, who have cut the sugar cane, And drove the herds of cattle o'er the dry and dusty plain. You've dug the ore at Isa, laid countless miles of rail, And now you come to Moreton Bay to catch the humpback whale.
For men who've chased the brumbies, caught bullocks by the tail It really is no problem to catch a humpback whale. Just spur your iron sea-horse, put the gun through rigging struts And when he runs from the coral scrub, you belt him in the guts.
The man up in the crow's nest, as whaling legend goes, Looks out across the water and then cries, "Thar she blows," But here in sunny Queensland you'll sometimes hear them shout "There goes a bloody beauty, mate, so get your finger out.'
From Moreton to Caloundra bronze whaler sharks abound They wait like dingoes in the scrub for a wounded beast that's down. But their taste for blood and savagery, it never could compare With the bite that Inland Revenue took from our bonus share.
When fuel tanks were running low, we'd sail to Brisbane town And at the nearest boozer our sorrows we would drown. With beer and fiery whiskey, and plonk of vintage rare We'd steer a steady zigzag course without a blasted care.
Hooray the season's over, and we can all return To greet our wives and sweethearts and have a little fun. We'll rant like cattle drovers, we'll roar like whaling men, But when the season starts next year you'll find us back again.
From Harry Robertson's benchmark LP "WHALE CHASING MEN — Songs of Whaling in Ice and Sun" released in 1971 by T. Albert and Sons under their Music For Pleasure label. Lyrics from Therese Radic's Songs of Australian Working Life.
For lyrics and further information, go to the official Harry Robertson website: www.harryrobertson.net.
Following is Harry's own rendition of this great song:
Ten miles down Reedy River, a pool of water lies
And all the year it mirrors the changes in the skies
And in that pool's broad bosom is room for all the stars
Its bed of sand has drifted, o'er countless rocky bars
Around the lower edges, there waves a bed of reeds
Where water rats are hidden and where the wild duck breeds
And grassy slopes rise gently to ridges long and low
Where groves of wattle flourish, and native bluebells grow
Beneath the granite ridges, the eye may just discern
Where Rocky Creek emerges from deep green banks of fern
And standing tall between them, the grassy sheoaks cool
The hard, blue-tinted waters, before they reach the pool
Ten miles down Reedy River one Sunday afternoon
I rode with Mary Campbell to that broad, bright lagoon
We left our horses grazing till shadows climbed the peak
And strolled beneath the sheoaks on the banks of Rocky Creek
Then home along the river, that night we rode a race
And the moonlight lent a glory to Mary Campbell's face
I pleaded for our future all through that moonlight ride
Until our weary horses drew closer side by side
Ten miles from Ryan's Crossing and five below the peak
I built a little homestead on the banks of Rocky Creek
I cleared the land and fenced it, and ploughed the rich, red loam
And my first crop was golden when I brought my Mary home
Now still down Reedy River, the grassy sheoaks sigh
The water-holes still mirror the pictures in the sky
The golden sand is drifting across the rocky bars
And over all for ever go sun and moon and stars
But of the hut I builded, there are no traces now
And many rains have levelled the furrows of my plough
The glad, bright days have vanished, for sombre branches wave
Their wattle blossom golden above my Mary's grave
Australia's first folk musical Reedy River premiered in Melbourne in 1953. The libretto, based on an historical event, the 1891 shearer's strike, was written by Dick Diamond with songs chosen by John Gray. Two new songs were written for the musical by Diamond with music by Miles Maxwell. Reedy River was inspired by the Australian traditional and folk music being collected by John Meredith, George Farwell, Vance Palmer, Margaret Sutherland and John Gray. Folk songs featured in the musical included the Ballad of '91, Eumeralla Shore and a musical version of the Henry Lawson poem Reedy River. A number of the folk songs performed were collected by John Meredith and the music to the poem Reedy River was composed by sixteen-year-old Chris Kempster, both members of Australia's first bush band, The Bushwhackers.
Reedy River, with music played by a small orchestra conducted by Miles Maxwell, was first produced by the Melbourne New Theatre on 11 March 1953, directed by John Gray. On the 5 December 1953 the musical was revived by the Sydney New Theatre with the orchestra replaced by The Bushwhackers. The band played improvised bush instruments like the bush bass (or tea-chest bass) and the lagerphone (or Murrumbidgee River Rattler) and folk instruments such as the button or "bush" accordion, mouth organ and the tin whistle, introducing these instruments to a wide audience for the first time.
The musical became enormously popular due to its uniquely Australian content, its then novel use of Australian traditional and folk songs and its affirmation of Australian bush culture and tradition. The Sydney season and the subsequent tour of NSW was seen by over 100 000 people and launched The Bushwhackers as a band. The production's popularity is regarded as the catalyst for the Australian folk music revival of the 1950s and the inspiration for generations of folklorists and folklore collectors.
