A bit of Australiana to share

[pearlie Member Find all posts View Profile Close pearlie]

Hi all,
Just thought that this might be a great way to enjoy a bit of aussie humor when seated around a campfire.
Looking for bush poetry, tales and yarns to share.
Sorry if this topic has been posted before somewhere in PP, but I feel the need to have a laugh..
Here's a bush poem I came across a while back.


My Expensive Education

He was making a lot of noise ,
In the bar of the hotel Federation..
He was telling every one,
About his fancy education.

He had diplomas and degrees,
From business to guitar strumming.
But the most useful lesson he had learnt,
Was how to spot a sucker coming.

He then produced some fancy papers,
Just to prove that he was smart.
They said that he was a genius,
And a patron of the arts.

But (he said) all his education,
Hadn’t helped him for a day.
Like the ability to spot a sucker,
From a mile away.

And I must say I was jealous,
Because I’d never been to school.
And almost everyone in town,
Considered me a fool.

But this bloke came right up to me,
And he said I looked deflated.
He could tell straight away,
I’d never been educated.

When he asked if we could talk alone,
I was a little apprehensive.
But he was only explaining,
How an education was expensive.

And he said he felt sorry for me,
In my brainless situation.
And he said that for a small price,
I could have his education.

It was the chance I had been dreaming of,
I couldn’t believe my luck.
So I bought his education off him
For seven thousand bucks.

So now I’ve got all his brains,
And all he’s got today,
Is the ability to spot a sucker,
From a mile away.

© Andrew Hull

[FlyNdrive Advanced Member Find all posts View Profile Close FlyNdrive]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

I can't take any credit for this poem because it was recited to Team Simpson by Callo before the GTG. We sat and translated it for some bush entertainment one night. I asked him to send it to me and now I'm sharing it with you all.

There I was out the back putting some Kitten on the Holden when my missus called out “Do you want some tucker love?” “You bet” I said “a Dogs Eye will do”. Well I finished putting the Kitten on the Holden and I slipped inside through the Windux fly door,opened up the Kelvinator, grabbed myself a stubbie of XXXX and plonked myself down on the Don.  I turned on the Pye, it was the league, Berries playing the Saints. Suddenly the Berries score under the posts and I get so excited I leaps up into the air. At the same time my Missus comes in with my Sergeants, covered in Rich Red on a Ranleigh. Well the Rich Red hit my Whitmont, screamed down my Sax Altmans and into my Julious Marlows.  Well if that wasn’t enough the Rothmans I was smoking hit my Onkaparinga and that is how I burnt down my Jennings. Cheers.
 

Thanks Ian,

-Ben

[pearlie Member Find all posts View Profile Close pearlie]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

Found this in an old RMWilliams magazine.. :lol:


Station cook tales

I was ratting through some old family papers the other day and came across this letter, which is a reply to a vacancy for a station cook position that my mother had advertised and is full of character. My mother and father managed Eurella Station, Mitchell, Qld, for 25 years. As a kid growing up on a station< I can still recall the dramas that evolved around the station cook.

They were a bit of a breed of their own and there were good cooks, bad cooks, cranky cooks, temperamental cooks, lemon essence-swilling cooks and then the ones who thought they owned the place. The nice friendly ones that could really cook were few and far between and when you got one, they were God.

After leaving school, I also went out jackaroo-ing for a few years and there was one golden rule: "don't stir the cook up" because if you did and they left, who replaced them on a temporary basis? - the bosses wife. Some took it in their stride, but others, it was the last thing they wanted, which was generally reflected in the 'good morning' greeting.

My mother is now in her 80s and can still hold a room with her stories about station cooks.

July 15th, 1964

Mrs Page,

I feel you should know my particulars in advance. Am 37 on 16th July and have had a lifetime of cooking experience. Can do anything with mutton, but slightly cautious with beef. My father was Jack Steward (white) from Cunnumulla. My sister, Darby Lands's wife, has just lost one of her sons (Michael). He died in Brisbane last week. Perhaps you may know me now. Now to come to my problems. I have my own car, but one 15 year-old son, three de-sexed cats, one working bitch and the old dog I spoke of and six chooks. Had my leg amputated at the knee in Cunnamulla when I was 16 years but it never has been in my way. Have cooked, to name a couple, at the following. Bush Children's Home, Yeppoon, Caves Hotel, Rocky, on a station outside Bluff, Highway Motel, Gladstone, Strand Hotel, Monto and just about every state home in Brisbane as a casual cook. Also Tinnenburra many years ago and for a Miss Grahame at Montrose, Wyandra. Last two happened before I was married at approx 18 to 19 years of age. I haven't worked on a stations since I've been on my own, but before, my husband Les used to take a cowboy job, myself cook and when he'd get tired we'd all have to go because one couldn't work there alone. Outside Bluff, where we worked together, he was working four hours per day, myself 12 hours, and we both got the same pay. I don't know where he is now as he is a bit like Clancy of the Overflow, "we don't know where he are". I do not drink and, as far as I know, my only vices are my animals. Why I haven't worked on a station since being on own is that I broke my leg some months ago and it took a while to recover. Sorry about the phone call reverse charges. It said ring after 1900 hours. Not being a sea-going person I had to find out what time that meant. My son tells me 7 PM. But I'm still not sure. If I don't receive word from you I won't come, but if you still want us I'll come next weekend.

Yours faithfully

Lorna McDonald

Mulgildie, via Monto, QLD

[MRW82 Member Find all posts View Profile Close MRW82]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

Im not normally one for poems, but I heard this one on the radio a few years back and I got something in my eye while listening to it. the poem has stuck in my mind ever since.

it's written by Murray Hartin

Rain From Nowhere

His cattle didn't get a bid, they were fairly bloody poor,
What was he going to do? He couldn't feed them anymore,
The dams were all but dry, hay was thirteen bucks a bale,
Last month's talk of rain was just a fairytale,
His credit had run out, no chance to pay what's owed,
Bad thoughts ran through his head as he drove down Gully Road.
Geez, great-grandad bought the place back in 1898,
Now I'm such a useless bastard, I'll have to shut the gate.

Can't support my wife and kids, not like Dad and those before,
Crikey, Grandma kept it going while Pop fought in the war.
With depression now his master, he abandoned what was right,
There's no place in life for failures, he'd end it all tonight.
There were still some things to do, he'd have to shoot the cattle first,
Of all the jobs he'd ever done, that would be the worst.
He'd have a shower, watch the news, then they'd all sit down for tea,
Read his kids a bedtime story, watch some more TV,

Kiss his wife goodnight, say he was off to shoot some roos,
Then in a paddock far away he'd blow away the blues.
But he drove in the gate and stopped - as he always had,
To check the roadside mailbox - and found a letter from his Dad.
Now his Dad was not a writer, Mum did all the cards and mail,
But he knew the writing from the notebooks that he'd kept from cattle sales.
He sensed the nature of its contents, felt moisture in his eyes,
Just the fact his Dad had written was enough to make him cry.

"Son, I know it's bloody tough, it's a cruel and twisted game,
"This life upon the land when you're screaming out for rain.
"There's no candle in the darkness, not a single speck of light,
"But don't let the demon get you, you have to do what's right.
"I don't know what's in your head but push the bad thoughts well away,
"See, you'll always have your family at the back end of the day.
"You have to talk to someone, and yes I know I rarely did,
"But you have to think about Fiona and think about the kids.
"I'm worried about you son, you haven't rung for quite a while,
"I know the road you're on 'cause I've walked every bloody mile.

"The date? December 7 back in 1983,
"Behind the shed I had the shotgun rested in the brigalow tree.
"See, I'd borrowed way too much to buy the Johnson place,
"Then it didn't rain for years and we got bombed by interest rates.
"The bank was at the door, I didn't think I had a choice,
"I began to squeeze the trigger - that's when I heard your voice.
"You said 'Where are you Daddy? It's time to play our game'
"'I've got Squatter all set up, we might get General Rain.'

"It really was that close, you're the one that stopped me, son,
"And you're the one that taught me there's no answer in a gun.
"Just remember people love you, good friends won't let you down.
"Look, you might have to swallow pride and take that job in town,
"Just 'til things come good, son, you've always got a choice,
"And when you get this letter ring me, 'cause I'd love to hear your voice."

Well he cried and laughed and shook his head then put the truck in gear,
Shut his eyes and hugged his dad in a vision that was clear,
Dropped the cattle at the yards, put the truck away
Filled the troughs the best he could and fed his last ten bales of hay.
Then he strode towards the homestead, shoulders back and head held high,
He still knew the road was tough but there was purpose in his eye.

He called his wife and children, who'd lived through all his pain,
Hugs said more than words - he'd come back to them again.
They talked of silver linings, how good times always follow bad,
Then he walked towards the phone, picked it up and rang his Dad.
And while the kids set up the Squatter, he hugged his wife again,
Then they heard the roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain.

[pearlie Member Find all posts View Profile Close pearlie]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

Bush Olympian
I wonder how many others out there qualify for this title. :lol: :lol:

My legs were too long for cycling,
And my arms were too short for weights.
I’m no good at running or jumping,
And my boxing skills aren’t great.

Me hair was too short for tennis,
But I gave badminton a bash.
My hair was too long for golf,
And cricket pads give me a rash.

I can’t stay afloat in the water,
And I’m too scared of heights to dive.
I haven’t the balance for motorbikes,
And I haven’t a licence to drive.

But I have developed a tendon,
Between my elbow and my wrist.
And it allows a stubby bottle,
To fit perfectly in my fist.

I can roll a smoke one handed
(No handed if I try).
And my mouth is perfectly suited,
To swallowing whole a meat pie.

If you take me on at yarn spinning,
Then you are a bloody fool.
And I’ve tuned my body perfectly,
To sitting on a barstool.

I know I’ll never be recognised,
For the athlete that I am.
But these are skills I can use every day,
I’m a bush Olympian.

© Andrew Hull

[zookcubr Senior Member Find all posts View Profile Close zookcubr]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

Nothing wrong with a bit of bush poetry.

[GH4wd Advanced Member Find all posts View Profile Close GH4wd]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

Mulga Bill's Bicycle


"Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen;
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine;
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, `Excuse me, can you ride?'


`See, here, young man,' said Mulga Bill, `from Walgett to the sea,
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows,
Although I'm not the one to talk -- I HATE a man that blows.
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wild cat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight.'


'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak,
It whistled down the awful slope, towards the Dead Man's Creek.


It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek.


'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, `I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five pound bet,
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."


At primary school I think about 1968 or so ,we learned this great Aussie poem & had a huge amount of fun with the recitals :lol: :lol:

Reminds me of some trail bike & 4wd trips in days gone by funnily enough, including some participants with over inflated ego's...............just like Mulga Bill's.. :shock: :lol:

Cheers,

Glenn

(apologies for the obvious cut 'n paste :P :twisted: )

[pearlie Member Find all posts View Profile Close pearlie]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

found this one the other day and had a good giggle at it. Hope you enjoy it too.


The Young Nurse

by Col Deering

It sounds rather absurd , I've just received word
There's problems down at the infirmary,
All the patients now curse a young first year nurse,
Whose mistake was so elementary.

Because matron decreed, all the dentures did need
To be collected and given a scrub.
Without any debate the nurse gathered each plate,
Placed them in a big galvanised tub.

She was in quite a rush with soap and big brush,
Till those molars shone like they were new,
Oh what a nark not one did she mark,
Then it dawned she was in quite a stew.

As those dentures did soak those teeth saw the joke.
They all smiled with a terrible grin,
Would a solution evolve and her problem solve,
To find the owners for the teeth in that tin.

Well it upset the staff to see those dentures laugh,
While the owners they just couldnt find,
Using tenacity and wit they just wouldnt fit
They were all in one terrible bind.

Until in due course they resorted to force,
With the patients mouths held open wide,
They did push and did shove with no sign of love,
Till each mouth had teeth firmly inside.

Now you should be discreet should ever you meet,
A person with a very fixed grin,
You can bet your whole purse that a very young nurse,
mixed their dentures up in that tin.

[pearlie Member Find all posts View Profile Close pearlie]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

Found this one last year and can't help but smile at it.. Not sure who the author was as it was emailed to me.


AN AUSTRALIAN POEM

The sun was hot already - it was only 8 o'clock
The cocky took off in his Ute, to go and check his stock.
He drove around the paddocks checking wethers, ewes and lambs,
The float valves in the water troughs, the windmills on the dams.

He stopped and turned a windmill on to fill a water tank
And saw a ewe down in the dam, a few yards from the bank.
"Typical bloody sheep," he thought, "they've got no common sense,
"They won't go through a gateway but they'll jump a bloody fence."

The ewe was stuck down in the mud, he knew without a doubt
She'd stay there 'til she carked it if he didn't get her out.
But when he reached the water's edge, the startled ewe broke free
And in her haste to get away, began a swimming spree.

He reckoned once her fleece was wet, the weight would drag her down
If he didn't rescue her, the stupid sod would drown.
Her style was unimpressive, her survival chances slim
He saw no other option, he would have to take a swim.

He peeled his shirt and singlet off, his trousers, boots and socks
And as he couldn't stand wet clothes, he also shed his jocks.
He jumped into the water and away that cocky swam
He caught up with her somewhere near the middle of the dam

The ewe was quite evasive, she kept giving him the slip
He tried to grab her sodden fleece but couldn't get a grip.
At last he got her to the bank and stopped to catch his breath
She showed him little gratitude for saving her from death.

She took off like a Bondi tram around the other side
He swore next time he caught that ewe he'd hang her bloody hide.
Then round and round the dam they ran, although he felt quite puffed
He still thought he could run her down, she must be nearly stuffed.

The local stock rep came along, to pay a call that day
He knew this bloke was on his own, his wife had gone away
He didn't really think he'd get fresh scones for morning tea
But nor was he prepared for what he was about to see.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what came into view
For running down the catchment came this frantic-looking ewe.
And on her heels in hot pursuit and wearing not a stitch
The farmer yelling wildly "Come back here, you lousy witch!"

The stock rep didn't hang around, he took off in his car
The cocky's reputation has been damaged near and far
So bear in mind the Work Safe rule when next you check your flocks
Spot the hazard, assess the risk, and always wear your jocks!

[pearlie Member Find all posts View Profile Close pearlie]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

Apologies for all the cutting and pasting but there are some beauties out there. :lol: This would have to rate pretty highly also. Enjoy....

The Trailer
BLUE - the shearer (Copyright Col Wilson)

In my very early childhood, I learned to crawl and walk,
To use the potty on command, to gurgle, goo, and talk,
And in good time, I went to school, and learned to read and write.
To co exist in playgrounds. To run and jump, and fight.

When I grew up, I got a job. A wife, and family too.
In short, I did the kind of things that most men get to do.
And whilst my life may not have gained the ultimate success,
I can say, with modesty, it's not a total mess.

That's why I find it difficult to contemplate my failure
Despite my years of trying to, I still can't back a trailer.
All my friends who have one, seem to do it well,
So why do my attempts end up a journey into hell?

When I bought my trailer, six by four and painted green,
I thought it was the nicest trailer I had ever seen.
I hooked it on, and drove it home, determined to arrive
In a blaze of glory, by backing up the drive.

I knew the theory, left hand down, to back it to the right,
Right hand down to guide it left. As I said, I'm bright.
But theory into practise, though it may sound commonsense,
For me, seems quite impossible, and so, I hit the fence.

Quite a crowd soon gathered round. Advice was far from lacking,
With every new arrival asking: "Having trouble backing?"
I finally unhooked it, and wheeled it through the gate,
Up the drive, and round the back, so I could concentrate

On learning how to back it, this trailer so perverse
Instead of getting better, I kept on getting worse.
You can see where I've been learning, my area of practise,
The woodpile fence is broken, and all the shrubs are cactus.

The corner of the garage is gone, no trees are left alive,
And I've completely flattened both the down pipes in the drive.
The clothes hoist has a nasty bend. The sprinklers are no more,
And the imprint of the number plate is on the toilet door.

My backing reputation now, is legend in this town.
I'm down the street. Some smartarse says: "Hey Blue it's lefthand down."
But since I've bought my trailer, I have to persevere.
Accidents don't worry me. It's ridicule I fear.

So, when I take it to the dump, I hope no one's around,
But folk just seem to know I'm there. Spectators abound.
They hope I'm going to duplicate that trailer backing sin,
And go too near the edge again, and drop the damn thing in.

But finally, I've solved it. The problem's not so hard.
I only drive it forward now, when I'm not in the yard.
In the matter of reversing, there's really nothing to it.
When I need to back it, I just get the wife to do it.

[Just*Managing Member Find all posts View Profile Close Just*Managing]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

Here's one I heard a few years ago whilst out camping & had a ring of truth to it. Sorry don't know it's creator.
Tell me you can't relate, I dare you

There was movement at the station, so once said a famous man
But how did Banjo know this? Perhaps he towed a caravan?
Perhaps he had been awoken in the van park from his slepp,
Two hours before the daylight, by strange noises from the deep.

It's the Rgh, Rgh of van legs being screwed up in the dark,
As the first nocturnal travelers start to wake the sleeping park.
And just like a feral mating call, some others answer back
With their rgh, rgh,flaming chorus, the first start down the track.
Now ev'rything packed is metallic, so it clatter, bangs and dongs
And they bark out loud instructions amid hollow clack of thongs.

Now it's best to warm your motor if your leaving in the dark
Especially if it's an old deisel and jackhammers all the park
But now it's time to rock & roll and you hear the circus start
"A bit to the left - not the right I said", "This way you deaf old fart"
"Who do you think your calling brainless, you dopey senile drone?"
"If you don't like my directions, you're on your flaming own"
"are you sure you turned the gas off?" "Are the indicators working just so?"
By this time you've had enough, you yell "JUST BLOODY GO!"

Now it's almost daylight and the park picks up the pace,
As the Geriatric Gypsies all begin thei morning race.
"Cause the next park is their target and like metal ants they flock.
'First in gets the best shade and close to the ablutions block.

But for those of us still vainly sleeping, we just toss and kick and turn.
Who said holidays were restful, beauty sleep is what we yearn.

You can't beat them so you join them, in this hyperactive spree,
As the laundry now is in full swing, throbbing like a DC3.
About 3 o'clock it's showtime, magic moments all can share,
You prepare for the entertainment, grab a beer/wine & a chair.
As here come the new arrivals with the wife all looking terse
If you thought leaving was a hassle, well arriving's 10 time worse.

you see, hand waving female logic with male thinking can't compute
So a jack-knife on the van site soon erupts in hot dispute.
It's as good as any circus, wife and husband on attack
Whilse spectators in their deckchairs watch the rigs shunt up and back
there's trees and shrubs to watch out for and the raised water pipe of course
By the time the couple do unhook, the only word spoken is "divorce".

Things quieten down by 5pm as we gather round the camp fire
they introduce themselves and begin to chat intending to inspire
they talk about the weather and adventures they've been through
then they swap and start repeating from the others point of view
And there's a clone of Harry Butler and Malcolm Douglas rolled into one
This man's a fanatic he's fished, climbed and driven every track under the sun
He brags about his conquests, twice round the bush & back
Tough you half suspect his "tinnie" has been welded to his rack.

And the lights dim on the campground and a gentle hush then falls
As the bush gets ready for sleep and the insects softly call
And you drift in gentle slumber as sweet dreams flit through your brain.
Then at 6am it rgh, rgh, rgh and HERE WE GO AGAIN!

[pearlie Member Find all posts View Profile Close pearlie]

Re: A bit of Australiana to share

Apologies for the cut and paste again but I am posting this on the eve of our great adventure with a camper trailer in tow..

The Trailer
BLUE - the shearer (Copyright Col Wilson)

In my very early childhood, I learned to crawl and walk,
To use the potty on command, to gurgle, goo, and talk,
And in good time, I went to school, and learned to read and write.
To co exist in playgrounds. To run and jump, and fight.

When I grew up, I got a job. A wife, and family too.
In short, I did the kind of things that most men get to do.
And whilst my life may not have gained the ultimate success,
I can say, with modesty, it's not a total mess.

That's why I find it difficult to contemplate my failure
Despite my years of trying to, I still can't back a trailer.
All my friends who have one, seem to do it well,
So why do my attempts end up a journey into hell?

When I bought my trailer, six by four and painted green,
I thought it was the nicest trailer I had ever seen.
I hooked it on, and drove it home, determined to arrive
In a blaze of glory, by backing up the drive.

I knew the theory, left hand down, to back it to the right,
Right hand down to guide it left. As I said, I'm bright.
But theory into practise, though it may sound commonsense,
For me, seems quite impossible, and so, I hit the fence.

Quite a crowd soon gathered round. Advice was far from lacking,
With every new arrival asking: "Having trouble backing?"
I finally unhooked it, and wheeled it through the gate,
Up the drive, and round the back, so I could concentrate

On learning how to back it, this trailer so perverse
Instead of getting better, I kept on getting worse.
You can see where I've been learning, my area of practise,
The woodpile fence is broken, and all the shrubs are cactus.

The corner of the garage is gone, no trees are left alive,
And I've completely flattened both the down pipes in the drive.
The clothes hoist has a nasty bend. The sprinklers are no more,
And the imprint of the number plate is on the toilet door.

My backing reputation now, is legend in this town.
I'm down the street. Some smartarse says: "Hey Blue it's lefthand down."
But since I've bought my trailer, I have to persevere.
Accidents don't worry me. It's ridicule I fear.

So, when I take it to the dump, I hope no one's around,
But folk just seem to know I'm there. Spectators abound.
They hope I'm going to duplicate that trailer backing sin,
And go too near the edge again, and drop the damn thing in.

But finally, I've solved it. The problem's not so hard.
I only drive it forward now, when I'm not in the yard.
In the matter of reversing, there's really nothing to it.
When I need to back it, I just get the wife to do it.


Merry Christmas everyone...