The Ale-House Door (painting of c. 1790 by Henry Singleton – courtesy of Wikiwand)
‘Wild Rover No More’ is the eighth song on Burl Ives’ 1953 album ‘9 Australian Folk Songs.’ It was included in Banjo Paterson’s ‘Old Bush Songs’, and also in Douglas Stewart’s and Nancy Keesing’s ‘Old Bush Songs.’ Having said that, there is nothing distinctly Australian about the song at all, and very few Australians have recorded it. The song would appear to have been originally written for the temperance movement, propaganda to discourage the consumption of alcohol. Ironically, it is now best known as a drinking song, and is very popular in the pubs of Ireland. In recent times, it has mostly been recorded by Irish performers – The Pogues, The Dubliners, The Clancy Brothers, The High Kings, etc. Having said that, when The Clancy Brothers introduce the song on Pete Seeger’s Rainbow Quest TV show in the 1960s, they refer to it as “an old Australian song.”
Despite the song’s popularity in Ireland, the origins of the song most likely lie with England. There is also evidence that an early version of the song was sung by fishermen in the North Atlantic. The website ‘Mainly Norfolk’ tells us that ‘Wild Rover No More’ probably evolved from a song entitled ‘The Green Bed’, where the poorly treated ‘rover’ is a fisherman.
The Institute of Australian Culture
Australian Folk Songs
Mainly Norfolk: English Folk and Other Good Music
Irish Australian Song Library
Refreshment Shanty, Ballarat 1854 (by Samuel Thomas Gill, courtesy of Art Gallery of Ballarat)
‘The Springtime it Brings on the Shearing’ is the sixth song on Burl Ives’ 1953 record, ‘9 Australian Folk Songs.’ It has been recorded by many people since then, including Lionel Long, Gary Shearston, Martyn Wyndham-Read and the Bushwackers.
The song describes how the shearers are the heroes of the hour at the height of the shearing season, splashing money around carelessly. Once the shearing is finished for the year, however, you will generally find them camped on the banks of a river, living an extremely frugal existence.
A number of writers point out that the words have been taken from a poem, ‘The Wallaby Track’, by E. J. Overbury. For example, the second verse of the poem begins:
With a ragged old swag on his shoulder,
And a billy or pot in his hand,
‘Twould astonish the new-chum beholder
To see how he’ll traverse the land.
The second verse of ‘The Springtime it Brings on the Shearing’ reads as follows:
With a ragged old swag on my shoulder
And a billy quart-pot in my hand,
And I’ll tell you we’ll ‘stonish the new-chum
To see how we travel the land.
‘The Wallaby Track’ was first published in the Creswick and Clunes Advertiser, in 1865. (By way of historical context, Banjo Paterson was born the year before, in 1864, and Henry Lawson two years later in 1867. Dame Mary Gilmore was born in the same year. This is also probably the year when Ned Kelly, at the age of ten or eleven, rescued the seven-year-old Richard Shelton from drowning in Hughes Creek in Avenel, Victoria.)
Creswick and Clunes are two old Victorian gold mining towns in central Victoria. They are not far apart, and are often considered together. Creswick is perhaps best known as being the birthplace of the Australian painter and writer, Norman Lindsay. Clunes’ principal claim to fame these days is that it hosts the annual ‘Clunes Booktown Festival.’
Overbury also wrote two other well-known poems, ‘The Public by the Way’ and ‘The Loafer’s Club.’
Overbury also published a collection of his poetry, ‘Bush Poems’, in 1865. In 1999 Red Rooster Press published ‘Two Goldfield Balladists’, edited by Hugh Anderson. The balladists were W. W. Coxon and E. J. Overbury, and the book comprises two small, old books: ‘Coxon’s Comic Songster’ and Overbury’s ‘Bush Poems.’
Overbury wrote a preface to his book, with his tongue firmly in his cheek. It reads as follows:
The great object I have in view publishing this little book is, if possible, to make a little money by it. If the purchaser obtains six-pennyworth of amusement from it, the benefit will be mutual. Like all virgin authors, I naturally expect that it will permeate through all classes of society, not only in this country, but in the most distant parts of the earth – that it may even cause some sensation amongst the crowned heads of Europe, and be recognised by the “Great Panjandrum” himself. Under these circumstances, I am willing to declare “The right of translation is not reserved.”
Anderson wrote an extensive introduction to ‘Two Goldfield Balladists.’ He tells us that “…Overbury was born in Scotland about 1830, and arrived as a cabin passenger on the Anne Cropper in May 1853, aged 22 years…”
He goes on to say that Overbury spent most of his time in Australia employed by the Anderson brothers – James, John and William. He also rented his home from them. The Andersons were based in the gold fields of central Victoria, and their primary business was supplying timber for the deep leads. When local supplies were exhausted, tramways were laid deep into the Wombat State Forest. Their empire continued to grow, and they became involved in land speculation and agriculture. They built a five-storey flour mill in nearby Smeaton, which still stands today. (Overbury wrote his ‘Preface’ from Smeaton.)
Hugh Anderson makes the point that there is some confusion about Overbury’s middle name, as it is sometimes given as ‘Irvine’. Dr Graeme Skinner confirms that his middle name was indeed ‘Irvine’, and the initial ‘J’ is therefore an error. Skinner also tells us that Overbury was born in Westbury, Wiltshire (via Bath), England, on 5 September 1830. Information provided by Skinner is far more detailed, and also much more recent, than that provided by Anderson, so I am inclined to think it is also more accurate.
Eight years after ‘Bush Poems’ was published, in 1873, Overbury wrote a letter to The Australasian newspaper in Melbourne. He was now in Glengower, not far from Smeaton. The letter was published in part, with an editorial response, in The Australasian, Saturday 8 August 1873, on page 16. He is complaining about a man – whom he names (but the editor chooses not to) – who is making minimal changes to Overbury’s work, and passing it off as his own.
“E. J. Overbury” (Glengower) – This correspondent writes to us to give satisfactory proof that he is “the real author of the songs termed the ‘Wallaby Track,’ ‘The Public by the Way,’ ‘Jack and I,'” &c, and in support of his claim gives the names of a good many respectable gentlemen as references. We regret that we are not familiar with the compositions themselves. He says “the songs themselves are certainly not worth much notice grammatically speaking. No doubt error abounds in them to a large extent. But the working classes in Victoria, New South Wales and Queensland appreciate them, and I do not believe that a party who calls himself ______ should intentionally rob me of that little approach to fame that I am certainly due. Mr. ______ represents himself as the author of all these songs. He attends in shearing time every station that can possibly lie in his route. He partially makes a parody by calling ‘The Public by the Way,’ ‘The Shanty by the Way,’ but every word in it except the change of substantives is mine. The same with the ‘Wallaby Track,’ and as time, and ignorance, and dishonesty advance, I fear that others of my own composition may suffer the same fate.” We are sorry to learn that Mr. Overbury, like other men of creative genius, suffers from the competition of plagiarists. He may, however, take it as a proof of his popularity when his songs are acceptable even in their altered and plagiarised form. We trust that as time advances ignorance and dishonesty will not advance too, and that his rival minstrel will come to rely on songs of his own production.
it is clear the editor has little respect for Overbury. He does not know his poems, and refers to him sarcastically as a ‘creative genius.’ Overbury had the last laugh, of course, with his words now immortalised in ‘The Springtime it Brings on the Shearing.’ His rival also achieved some long-term success, however. ‘The Public by the Way’ is now better known as ‘The Shanty by the Way.’
Hugh Anderson tells us that Overbury died in Creswick Hospital on 22nd February 1898. The local papers noted the death of “an old resident of Smeaton.” The records of the Smeaton cemetery referred to him as “the local bush poet.”
I can find no information at all about the tune to ‘The Springtime it Brings on the Shearing’. To my ear, it sounds quite similar to ‘The Dying Stockman’.
‘Australian Folklore – A Dictionary of Lore, Legends and Popular Allusions’ by W. Fearn-Wannan (Lansdowne Press 1977) – page 543
‘Old Bush Songs and Rhymes of Colonial Times’ by Douglas Stewart and Nancy Keesing (Angus & Robertson 1970) – pages 232 – 3, page 248
‘Complete Book of Australian Folklore – Compiled and annotated by Bill Scott’ (Summit Books 1976) – page 193, pages 332 – 3
Bullock team hauling a load of wool, Walcha, NSW (Wikipedia)
‘The Old Bullock Dray’ is the third song on Burl Ives’ 1953 LP ‘9 Australian Folk Songs’, that did so much to spark the Australian folk revival. It is also a very difficult song to write about because of its racist connotations. (A ‘dray’ by the way is an open wagon, with no sides. I think we all know what bullocks are.)
Mark Gregory tells us, on his ‘Australian Folk Songs’ website, that ‘The Old Bullock Dray’ was first published in ‘Queensland Figaro and Punch’ on 9th November 1887, where it is introduced as an ‘Old Bush Favourite’, so presumably it had already been around for quite a while. (This was an amalgamation of two earlier newspapers – Queensland Figaro and Queensland Punch.) It was also printed in Banjo Paterson’s ‘Old Bush Songs’ in 1905. There are small but significant differences in the two sets of words.
The narrator is a shearer. The song begins with him addressing his colleagues at the end of another shearing season, telling them of his plans to settle down and raise a family. The only problem is, he doesn’t have a wife – a very significant obstacle, one would have thought, but also a very common problem for men in early colonial society. (The song is nothing if not a paean of optimism!)
Paterson explains much of the song in his introduction to it. (I don’t have a copy of the original 1905 edition of ‘Old Bush Songs’. I am referring here to the Centenary Edition, published by ABC Books in 2005, edited by Warren Fahey and Graham Seal.) The narrator (Paterson refers to him as ‘the minstrel’) explains that he has a big enough cheque to head into town and buy himself a bullock team.
And when i get a missus, boys, I’ll be all serene.
By applying at the depot. I hear there’s no delay
In getting an off-side partner for an old bullock dray.
Paterson: “Calling in at the Depot to get an offsider” – female immigrants were housed at the Depot on arrival, and many found husbands within a few hours of their arrival. An offsider is a bullock-driver’s assistant – one who walks on the off-side of the team and flogs the bullocks on that side when the occasion arises. The word afterwards came to mean an assistant of any kind.”
In the chorus, however, the narrator is now addressing his prospective wife rather than his fellow shearers. He is telling her all about the wonderful life that awaits her as his husband. The emphasis is very much on the large amount of good food he will be providing – lots of damper and fresh fish. He will also, of course, teach her how to flog the bullocks with a whip. (He also explains, of course, that they will not have a honeymoon!)
As the song comes to an end, the narrator expresses frustration that the woman at the Depot has not accepted his marriage proposal. Indeed, it appears to have been met with cold silence, and he is feeling badly hurt. He sings now instead of his plans to marry an Aboriginal woman, though it is not clear who is addressing. Perhaps he is simply singing to himself. Fighting for survival in an extremely hostile environment, their husbands very likely having been murdered, Aboriginal women were no doubt not nearly as fussy as the British women at the Depot.
We’ll have lots of picaninnies, but you mustn’t mind that,
Flash little Maggie and Buckjumping Pat,
Stringy-bark Joe and Greenhide Mike.
“My colonial,” you can have just as many as you like;
There was no old age pension in the 19th century, so having plenty of children increased your chances of being well cared for when you were told old and infirm to care for yourself.
Understandably, the word ‘picaninnies’ has been replaced by ‘girls’ in the Centenary Edition of ‘Old Bush Songs.’
The following four images accompany the 1887 printing of ‘The Old Bullock Dray’ in Queensland Figaro and Punch.
The website ‘An Australian Folk Song A Day’ tells us that the tune to ‘The Old Bullock Dray’ comes from an old American folk tune, ‘Turkey in the Straw’. This tune has been the subject of considerable controversy in recent times because it has often carried highly racist lyrics. It is also the tune often played by American ice cream trucks (I imagine in the same way that Mr Whippy in Australia is associated with Greensleeves). More information can be found here:
It makes the point that for much of its long and varied history, ‘Turkey in the Straw’ has not been associated with racism at all. To quote from the article:
“When the tune entered twentieth-century pop culture, it usually didn’t refer to African-American people, or at least it didn’t seem to. In fact, sometimes it didn’t refer to people at all: it was a major part of the Disney animated short Steamboat Willie, which introduced the characters of Mickey and Minnie Mouse.” It can be viewed here:
‘Turkey in the Straw’ is itself derived from an old Irish tune, ‘The Rose Tree.’ One performance of it can be found here:
Last Saturday I went bushwalking in Creswick. I was not sure what to expect, but it turned out to be a fascinating afternoon. I had been planning to have an overnight walk in the region of Mt Hotham, but the forecast of snow showers put me off. I’m not really set up for snow camping. I don’t know the area around Creswick, and central Victoria more generally, at all well, as I have spent so much time over the years in the northeast – Kelly Country, and the mountains.
I was following the track notes for the first walk in a book, ‘Victoria’s Goldfield Walks’, by Glenn Tempest. The Creswick Forest Walk is the first of twenty in the book. The walk begins in the town of Creswick itself, by the town hall, and I parked my car in the main street. I was advised to walk down Water Street to Creswick Creek, and then head upstream. The flow of water in the creek was so slow, however, that I had to walk onto the bridge and spend some time staring at the water until I was sure which way it was flowing!
Twenty minutes or so later, I found myself on the banks of St Georges Lake.
This was quite a revelation – all the more so when I learnt that the lake had been built by miners in the 19th century to service the gold industry – mainly, I think, the battery in Creswick. For some reason I had it in my mind that I would be heading south, away from the lake, but the reverse proved to be the case. I was instructed to walk north over the dam wall, and along the northern shore. There is an ancient, decrepit jetty there that looks very mysterious. I would love to learn more about it one day.
The walk along the northern shore is very beautiful. The vegetation is mostly pine trees – indeed, pine trees proved to be the theme of the afternoon – with no understorey, which is usually the way with pine trees. Some yellow coloured vegetation flourished at the water’s edge.
Things started to get a little tricky, however, once I reached the eastern extremity of the lake. The track notes advised me to leave the lake, and follow the walking track that ran above the western bank of Creswick Creek. I was advised to follow this until I reached an old fence that once belonged to the now abandoned Koala Park. Alas, the track was only present in vague traces here and there. I spent a great deal of time stepping over fallen timber. The going was very slow, and I eventually decided to cut my losses, retrace my steps back to the car, and try to approach the Koala Park from the opposite direction.
The scenery was desolate and rather spooky, and did nothing to encourage me to continue.
Once I reached the lake, I decided to walk back the other way, so I could at least complete a circumnavigation. I came across a board walk, but never managed to find the way on to it.
I wasn’t that fussed. I had bigger fish to fry.
Prior to Saturday, I also had not realised that Creswick is regarded as the home of Victorian forestry…
…nor that the University of Melbourne’s School of Forestry is based at Creswick. It is a grand old mansion on the side of a hill in Water Street. Continuing up Water Street in the car, I continued on up Brackenbury Road, a narrow, dirt road, until I came across the Goldfields Walking Track once more. (This is very well marked, with square posts in the ground – roughly a metre high – with brightly coloured painted yellow (for the gold!) tops.) I had planned to head south to try to find the Koala Park, but the trip downhill to the north looked much more interesting and promising.
It was an easy walk down through the plantation of young pine trees (I knew it would not be so easy walking back up again!) until I entered – very suddenly – a mature forest. The track continued downhill.
Suddenly I found myself in a beautiful glade of unfamiliar trees. Again, there was no understorey, which added to the beauty.
At first, I was not sure what they were, but the sign spelled it out very clearly.
The English oak trees created a yellow glow, and created a very peaceful, gorgeous scene. I half expected Robin Hood and his Merry Men to jump out at any moment!
People had been very busy creating cubby houses around the bases of many of the trees. (I hesitate to say children were responsible. My guess is their parents had a fair bit to do with it, too!) This was the pick of them.
Leaving the gully at its northern end, I was once again unsure which way to turn, or how long it would take to get to wherever it was that I was going. Time was running short, and I did not want to arrive back in Melbourne too long after dark. I retraced my steps back to the car once more (the climb did not prove as taxing as I was expecting), and drove to the end of the walk, in Sawpit Road. This is all much better prepared for the walker, as it is primarily celebrating the life and works of the man now regarded as the father of Victorian forestry, John La Gerche. There are heaps of signs, and the tracks are wide, and well maintained.
I more or less stumbled upon a remarkable carving of the man himself.
This sign tells his story.
it is clear that La Gerche spent a great deal of time experimenting with various exotic trees, and meticulously planting individual seeds. He strikes me as having been a gentle soul, as well as a man of great intellect and foresight. I couldn’t help wondering how he would feel about modern day forestry practices, especially as they relate to native forests.
Sawpit Gully is where it all started.
Extensive plantations were created, of both native and exotic species. They were generally planted on land that had been previously mined. In these days prior to mechanisation, horses were required to pull the ploughs. Naturally enough, there were stables for horses.
It was time to go home. I had failed in my original mission to walk the full 14km, as outlined in the track notes, but I had had a fascinating and physically bracing afternoon nonetheless. It is always great to get out of the city for a few hours!
‘A Nautical Yarn’ is one of the nine Australian folk songs that American singer Burl Ives recorded in 1952, and which were to have such a profound effect on Australians’ perception of their own folk music heritage. The ‘yarn’ takes place on the Murray River. (Whether the adjective ‘nautical’ can be applied in the context of fresh water is arguable.) The words are credited to Keighley Goodchild. They are a play on the general notion of shipwrecks, so many of which occurred, and so tragically, in the 19th century. A paddle steamer is making its way upstream to the town of Wahgunyah (the furthest upstream port on the Murray) when a storm arises during the night. The crew fear for their lives, but the boat is grounded on a sandbar, and they all walk safely through the shallow water to shore!
According to his obituary, which was published in The Riverine Herald in 1888, Goodchild was born in London, and had a good education. He had arrived in Melbourne fifteen years earlier (1873) from New Zealand. How long he had been in New Zealand is not stated.
The Echuca Historical Society also has information about Goodchild’s life. He was born in 1851. (By way of historical comparison, Henry Lawson was born in 1867, and Ned Kelly in 1855.) Goodchild was very much a newspaperman. In Melbourne he worked for the Argus. He moved to Echuca in 1880, and stayed there until his death at the age of only 37 of ‘consumption’ (TB) in 1888. He worked for a number of newspapers, and was editor of the Echuca Advertiser. For the last two years of his life he worked as a compositor for The Riverine Herald. (It was the job of a compositor to arrange type for printing.) He also published a column under the title ‘Municipal Musings’. (Many of these can be easily accessed via Trove.)
Goodchild also wrote poetry, and in 1883 he self published a small collection of his own work with the title ‘Who Are You? : A Volume of Verse’. One of the poems in this book, ‘While the Billy Boils’, was included in the final volume of a series of poetry collections published in London. The series was titled ‘Canterbury Poets’, and the final volume, with Goodchild’s poem, ‘Australian Ballads and Rhymes: Poems inspired by Life and Scenery in Australia and New Zealand’ (1888), was edited by B. W. Sladen of Oxford. (Goodchild received his copy several days before he died.) The phrase, ‘while the billy boils’, was just beginning to gain traction in Australia and New Zealand, and this was not the first time it was used. It was also chosen as the title of Henry Lawson’s first collection of short stories, published in 1896. Lawson did not use the phrase himself, but his editor, Arthur Jose, felt it was apt. (Jose almost certainly knew of Goodchild’s poem.) Plans were afoot for a second collection of Goodchild’s verse to be published in London, but this did not eventuate, no doubt due to his premature demise.
Here is the first stanza of ‘While the Billy Boils’ by Keighley Goodchild.
While the ruby coals in the dull grey dust,
Shine bright as the daylight dies;
When into our mouths our pipes are thrust,
And we watch the moon arise;
While the leaves that crackle and hiss and sigh
Feed the flame with their scented oils,
In a calm content by the fire we lie
And watch while the billy boils.
‘A Nautical Yarn’ is included in the blog ‘An Australian Folk Song A Day’, by John Thompson. John references the source of the song as ‘Big Book of Australian Folk Songs’ by Ron Edwards, and adds this note from the book:
“…Ian Mudie in his book ‘Riverboats’ suggests that “it is so different from the rest of Goodchild’s work that it seems quite likely he heard it on the riverboats or in the pubs of Echuca – and wrote it down as his own.”
So perhaps Keighley Goodchild did not write ‘A Nautical Yarn’ after all!
To further complicate matters, there is more than one tune for the song. Goodchild’s stated tune was ‘The Dreadnought’, but Burl Ives’ folio of Australian songs used ‘Villikins and his Dinah’.
Who knows, perhaps Goodchild would have developed into a writer to rival Lawson and Paterson if he had lived longer? Then again, that can no doubt be said about a number of writers whose lives were cut short in those hard, early days.
A Nautical Yarn
I sing of a capting who’s well known to fame;
A naval commander, Bill Jinks is his name.
Who sailed where the Murray’s clear waters do flow,
Did this freshwater shellback, with his Yeo heave a yeo.
To the Port of Wahgunyah his wessel was bound
When night comes upon him and darkness around;
Not a star on the waters it clear light did throw;
But the wessel sped onward with a Yeo heave a yeo.
Oh, Capting, oh! Capting, let’s make for the shore,
For the winds they do rage and the winds they do roar!”
“Nay, nay,” said the capting, “though the fierce winds may blow
I will stick to my vessel with a Yeo heave a yeo.”
“Oh! Capting, oh! Capting, the waves sweep the deck,
Oh Capting, oh! Capting, we’ll soon be a wreck –
To the river’s deep bosom each seaman will go!
But the capting laughed loudly, with his Yeo heave a yeo.
“Farewell to the maiding – the girl I adore;
Farewell to my friends – I shall see them no more!”
The crew shrieked in terror, the capting he swore –
They had stuck on a sandbank, so the men walked ashore.
Maggie Somerville and I attended the National Folk Festival again this year, and it proved to be extremely busy, enjoyable and rewarding for both of us.
In contrast to previous years, I took the Thursday before Good Friday off work so that we could drive up and not miss the Friday of the festival. I know Google says it is a seven hour drive, but it always takes me eight, allowing for a couple of stops. The extra time and money devoted to preparing my old Subaru Outback for the journey paid off, as the car behaved admirably throughout.
We set up camp in what has been the traditional place for me for many years and, in more recent years, us (Maggie and me), managing to complete the erection of the tent in the dying hours of daylight. Then we caught the Opening Concert at the Budawang, before retiring to bed at a reasonable time to get plenty of sleep prior to Friday morning’s Poets’ Breakfast. I think the highlight of the Opening Concert for me was the singing of Eric Bogle (sadly, without John Munro), who had been awarded the 2019 National Folk Festival Lifetime Achievement Award. I still regard his first (studio) album, “Now I’m Easy”, as his best, and he performed two songs from it – the title track, and ‘And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda.’ I would have loved to have heard one of the two songs he wrote about his mother, ‘Leaving Nancy’ and ‘Since Nancy Died’, but you can’t have everything.
There were four Poets’ Breakfasts from Friday to Monday, each one lasting for two hours from 8.30 am – 10.30 am, each MC’d by two people – one for the first hour, one for the second – and different MCs for each Breakfast, for a total of eight. (Maggie and I shared the job for the Monday Breakfast.) The four Breakfasts quickly start to blur together in my mind, and I struggle to remember them as distinct, individual events. Suffice to say they were all excellent, and I think the general standard gradually rises every year.
The format is simple. One of the MCs seats himself at a table outside the Flute ‘N’ Fiddle tent (that’s the name of the venue) at about 8.15, armed with a pen and a piece of paper, and poets/reciters approach, with a view to having their name added to the list of performers. They are then called to the stage in the order in which their names are on the list. Having said that, many performers ask for their name to be placed later down the list. The reason for this is that audience number generally build during the first hour, and reach their peak somewhere around the middle of the show. (They often fall off a little towards the end of the show also.) I harbour no great ambitions as a reciter these days, so am generally happy to kick things off as the opening performer.
Here is a selection of photos from Friday, beginning with Maggie singing a song from her new CD, ‘The Forest Prayed’ (poems of Mary Gilmore, music by Maggie Somerville). Geoffrey Graham is seated to her left, as MC.
Some of you may be wondering, why is a song being sung at a Poets’ Breakfast? It was generally felt, as the song was based on a poem by Dame Mary Gilmore, and the guitar playing is fairly subtle, that this was quite reasonable.
You will notice that the faces are generally very overexposed. This was due to the stage lighting, which I was unable to correct for using the camera on my phone.
Three of us – John Peel (the winner of last year’s Reciters’ Award), The Rhymer from Ryde and myself were then roped into a most unusual event – a trivia quiz – to be held at 1 pm at the Majestic tent, the three teams being ‘Bush Poets, ‘All Other Poets’, and the audience itself. We were the bush poets. We came well behind the two other teams (I think the audience might have won – not surprising, as they did outnumber the poets, but not by all that much!), and would have come last if the gentleman on the keyboard playing gentle background music had not become a surprise fourth team. We beat him by half a point!
I now know that the National Folk Festival began in 1967 (not 1966, as I first suggested), and that the ACT ranks seventh out of the eight states and territories, not eighth (as I first suggested!). The Northern Territory comes last in terms of population. I also now know that the ‘golden arches’ of McDonalds are crafted in Helvetica font, and that Demos is a moon of Mars, not Jupiter (as I first suggested!). You get the idea?
Here are a couple of photos.
Maggie was programmed to co-host ‘Poetry in the Park’ with David Hallett at 2.30 pm and, as it was the first poetry event she had ever MC’d, she was feeling understandably nervous. The weather was glorious, however, and she soon found she formed an easy rapport with David. She performed her duties beautifully, and was relieved to have the first one under her belt. This is a relatively new event, and has not drawn big audiences in the past, with MCs often having to make up for a short fall of ‘walk up’ poets. This was not the case this year, however, and it was often a struggle to make sure everybody was able to perform.
The Rhymer from Ryde
Geoffrey Graham (with co-MCs David Hallett and Maggie behind him)
The final poetry event for the day was ‘Poetry in the Round’, held at 7 pm in ‘The Terrace’, a spacious, comfortable, quiet, air-conditioned, but somewhat sterile room above the Session Bar. The format is that the three featured poets (in this case, David Hallett, the Rhymer and Ryde and me) do a short bracket – about 15 minutes each – after which there is a short session for ‘walk-ups’, then another short bracket for each of the feature poets. There is no designated MC, and the task of organising the walk-ups fell by default to me, as I was the last of the three featured poets to perform. In retrospect, I should have been a little tougher in terms of restricting their numbers, as we ran over time, and each of the featured poets had to perform a truncated version of their planned second bracket. Unfortunately, the event overall was not very well attended. Perhaps this was not so surprising. It had been a busy day for poetry, with bright sunshine and good crowds generally.
The Poets’ Breakfast on Saturday was again a great success. I performed my poem “Jesus and his Yoga”, and was surprised by how good a reaction I got from the audience.
Maggie and I were next scheduled to perform in the Victorian Folk Music Club’s musical presentation by their ‘Billabong Band’ on the theme of ‘bushrangers’ at 10.30 am in the Trocadero (we had had to leave the Poets’ Breakfast early). Maggie was an integral part of the show, playing in nearly every song, and singing one of her own. I had a cameo role, performing my poem ‘Victoria Has Ned Kelly!’ towards the end. The show was very well put together, giving us a picture of Australia’s bushranging days in chronological order, beginning with the escaped convicts, and finishing with Ned Kelly. An excellent narrative, written by Bill Buttler, bound the show together. The show was a vast improvement on their presentation last year, which was a little ragged in places, and was well received. (The Trocadero, by the way, is a gorgeous venue to perform in, and tends to be feature shows with a historical bent. When in doubt, head for the Troc!)
Maggie sang a song about Ned Kelly’s lesser known sister, Margaret. She had taken a poem by Keith McKenry, and set it to music.
(Thanks to Jill Watson for these photos.)
The Billabong Band
Our official duties concluded for the day, Maggie and I were free to consult the programme. After a brief celebratory cuppa with fellow VFMC members, Maggie and I dashed off to a songwriting workshop being held by WA-based comedy acapella act ‘The Ballpoint Penguins’. I had seen their act on festival programmes for many years, but had never had a chance to see them. Besides, I always like to attend poetry writing and song writing workshops at festivals. Sadly, it looks as though I may have left it a bit late in this case, as they announced they would soon be retiring. Nevertheless, we were able to get a good taste of their very clever and entertaining songs and performance, and some insight into their ways of working.
The Ballpoint Penguins
Maggie took the opportunity on Saturday afternoon to further promote her new CD, ‘The Forest Prayed.’
The CD is available for sale at Readings bookshop in Carlton, Melbourne.
‘Poetry in the Round’ was again scheduled for 7 pm in The Terrace, this time featuring Jason Roweth, his daughter Megan, and Sandra Renew. Maggie and I attended as ‘walk-ups’. The event was a little better attended this time, and I was able to relate the errors of the previous evening. Sandra ran a ‘tight ship’ so far as ‘walk-ups’ were concerned, with the list being completed before the show even began, and the evening went well. Megan in particular struck me as a remarkably self-assured and mature performer (and poet) for her age. (She is only 11.)
The Poets’ Breakfast on Sunday was another great event. Maggie chose to perform ‘The Dead Poet’, Mary Gilmore’s tribute to Henry Lawson, in response to a bracket of Lawson poems that Jason had performed the previous evening. She was surprised and thrilled at the audience response.
However, we were now filled with excitement and anticipation, as our principal performance of the festival was looming. I am talking about the presentation of C.J. Dennis’ ‘Digger Smith’, with Geoffrey Graham, at the Trocadero at 12 midday. A final intense rehearsal took place before it was back to the camp-site for the various props and costume changes.
‘Digger Smith’, published in 1918, was the third major book about Bill, Doreen and their friends, following ‘The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke’ (1915) and ‘The Moods of Ginger Mick’ (1916). (It is the fourth if you include the booklet ‘Doreen’, which contained four poems only (1917).) It tells the story of ‘Digger Smith’, an old mate of Bill and Mick from before the war, his homecoming and subsequent difficulties re-integrating into civilian society. It is also a reflection on World War One more broadly. Maggie and I performed it with members of the C.J. Dennis Society at the Toolangi C.J. Dennis Poetry Festival last year to a very small audience, and again with Geoffrey Graham at Newstead Live! in January this year to a slightly larger audience. Would we attract a larger audience at the National Folk Festival this year?
Well, I am pleased to say we did! An audience of 40 – 50 stayed with us for the full 90 minute journey, and made their appreciation known in no uncertain terms at the end. It was exhausting, but went off (largely!) without a hitch.
Thank you to Jill Watson for this photo…
…and to Jan Lewis for this one.
There was no time to reflect on our success, however, as Geoffrey and I were MC’ing ‘Poetry in the Park’ at 2.30pm. It proved another well attended event, with plenty of poets, in beautiful sunshine.
Our official duties for the day once again completed, Maggie and I attended the show by John Schumann and Shane Howard at the Budawang. It was the first time I had seen these two performing together, and we heard the best of Redgum and Goanna with a couple of other great songs as well, and a large, powerful backing band. it was a very emotional show. I took a number of pictures, mostly from the screen nearest us. Perhaps this is the best of them.
The final Poets’ Breakfast awaited us on Monday morning, with Maggie and I rostered on as MCs. It was the first time Maggie had hosted a Poets’ Breakfast and, being the final Breakfast, was also the event at which the winners of the coveted awards – the ‘Blue the Shearer’ Award for best original written poem (a new award last year) and the traditional Reciters’ Award – would be announced. Maggie acted as MC for the first half of the Breakfast, and acquitted herself well. Our performance of ‘No Foe Shall Gather Our Harvest’, Maggie’s musical setting of another of Mary Gilmore’s poems, including my recitation of part of a speech made by Australia’s then Prime Minister John Curtin, in 1941, was well received.
The results of the judging were then announced by John Peel, the winner of last year’s Reciters’ Award. John did an excellent job, going through the highlights of every day in some detail before making the final announcements. I was thrilled that my poem ‘Jesus and his Yoga’ cracked a mention. The presentations followed.
Irish Joe Lynch was announced as the winner of the ‘Blue the Shearer’ Award for his beautiful love poem to his wife, ‘Strawberries and Cream’, and David Hallett as the winner of the Reciter’s Award. Both were very popular and well deserved winners. Irish Joe is a very powerful performer, and a previous winner of the Reciter’s Award. He is one of the few spoken word performers who can command an audience in their own right. David Hallett is also a superb performance poet. He has been swimming against the tide to a degree in recent years, as the principal free verse poet in a sea of rhymers, and richly deserves this reward for his courageous persistence.
(Thanks again to Jan Lewis for this photo.)
Here are a few more shots of the morning’s performers.
The Rhymer from Ryde
Laurie McDonald (above) announced his retirement as Director of the Spoken Word Programme of the festival. Laurie has done a wonderful job in this role over the last 7 – 8 years, and has done much to raise the profile of spoken word events. There are now many more such shows programmed each year, there is a greater variety, and they are better attended. He is to be commended, and greatly thanked, for his efforts.
Laure announced that another Canberra-based poet, Jacqui Malins (above) will take over as Spoken Word Director for next year’s festival. I wish Jacqui every success in the role, and am sure she will perform it well.
Of course, no festival is ever complete without Campbell the Swaggie!
We had one more show to go! It wasn’t starting until 2.30 pm, and we then faced the long drive back to Melbourne, so there was time to take down the tent, pack the car and get ready to go beforehand. Fortunately, we achieved all this before the inevitable rain came down! The timing was perfect, as it held up until the festival was almost over.
Our final show, ‘Desert Island Poems’, in The Terrace, was a qualified success. I began the show three years ago as a spinoff of ‘Desert Island Discs’, a BBC radio show in which celebrities are invited into the studio to nominate the seven songs they would take with them if they had to spend the rest of their lives alone on a desert island, and why. I invite two poets (one male, one female), to nominate three such poems they would take with them. The show lasts for an hour. This year I chose as the poets Laurie McDonald and Maggie Somerville. An animated hour of discussion followed, and the small audience were well entertained, and thoroughly engaged in the discussion. Laurie chose ‘The Play’ by C.J. Dennis and ‘Sea Fever’ by John Masefield (which is interesting, because Dennis and Masefield were mutual admirers). He also chose one of his own poems, a ‘work-in-progress’ children’s picture book manuscript – though how he would arrange to submit the poem to the publisher from the desert island was never explored. Hopefully he would have a good internet connection!
Maggie chose several classic poems – ‘The King’s Breakfast’ by A.A. Milne, ‘The Highwayman’ by Alfred Noyes, and ‘Mulga Bill’s Bicycle’ by A.B. Paterson. A well worn early edition of the poems of A.A. Milne was passed around the audience.
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and it was time at last to hit the road. It had been an exhilarating but exhausting four days, and the focus was now on getting back to Melbourne in reasonable time to get some sleep, and get through a long working day on Tuesday. It was after 1 am by the time my head hit the pillow, but it had all, most definitely, been worthwhile!
The National Library (NLA Publishing) has recently released an anthology of poems for Australian children entitled “This is Home – Essential Australian Poems for Children.” I am very happy to report that two of my poems – ‘Dad Meets the Martians’ and ‘The Sash’ – are included in the collection, which is lavishly illustrated by Tania McCartney. The poems were selected by Jackie French, perhaps best known as the author of the classic children’s picture book ‘Diary of a Wombat.’
The book was launched at the National Library in Canberra last Sunday (7th April), and I received an invitation to attend and read one of my poems from the book. As I happened to be in the area with my friend Maggie Somerville, I decided to attend. My son, Thomas, and his girlfriend, Catherine, are also living in Canberra these days, so the four of us made our way to the library in the early afternoon.
It was a beautiful sunny day. I can’t remember if I have ever been to the National Library before or not, but I have to say the entrance looks quite magnificent.
Susan Hall, the publisher, welcomed the guests and introduced the afternoon’s proceedings…
Margaret Hamilton officially launched the book, but I do not have a photo of her speaking. The best I can offer is the following photo with, from left to right (in the comfy chairs) Margaret, Jackie French and Tania McCartney.
She was followed by Jackie French, who selected the poems…
and Tania McCartney, who provided the illustrations.
Both spoke with great passion about the book, and their contribution to it.
Next came the poets, a number of whom were in attendance, to read their poems.
Leo Barnard read ‘A Palace of a God’…
Jackie Hosking ‘A Dessert Sky’…
Christopher Cheng read ‘We Celebrate’…
Janeen Brian read ‘Looking’…
Libby Hathorn was the next to read, but I think I was distracted by my own imminent performance, and cannot be sure which of her three poems she read. I think it may have been ‘Cindric’s Trolley’, though.
Geoffrey Page also read ‘Silver Wind’, but unfortunately I do not have a picture of him, either.
Lastly, I performed my poem ‘Dad Meets the Martians.’ I am pleased to say it was well received.
Then it was time to say goodbye to Thomas and Catherine…
(thanks to Maggie Somerville for the photo) and skedaddle back to Melbourne in time for work at 9 am on Monday morning!
Book Review: “Waltzing Matilda – Australia’s Accidental Anthem” by W. Benjamin Lindner
(Published by Boolarong Press)
This is a book I have long been hoping somebody would write, but dared not believe anybody would.
There has been much written in recent years about the writing of Australia’s unofficial national anthem ‘Waltzing Matilda’. In particular, there has been a push to suggest that the words relate closely to the events surrounding the burning of the woolshed at Dagworth station in western Queensland in early September 1894, and the subsequent death of a shearer, Samuel Hoffmeister. (The two events may or may not have been related, but probably were.) Personally, I have never found this line of argument convincing.
Considerable uncertainty has also surrounded the timing of the writing of the song, with proponents of the Hoffmeister theory keen to believe, and therefore prove, that the song was written as soon as possible after these events. I have also never been convinced that this has been proven.
Part of the difficulty has been that Paterson’s travel arrangements during this time were never documented. A new book on the subject, “Waltzing Matilda – Australia’s Accidental Anthem”, by W. Benjamin Lindner, sets out to resolve this conundrum in a devastatingly simple way. It makes you wonder why nobody has ever thought of doing it before.
What is not disputed is that Paterson wrote “Waltzing Matilda” in collaberation with Christina McPherson, who provided the music (the tune ‘Thou Bonnie Wood of Craigielea’ that she had heard played at the Warrnambool races in April 1894), and that he was in the company of his fiancé, Sarah Riley, at the time. So, if Paterson’s travel movements cannot be nailed down, can the movements of McPherson and Riley? Turns out they can! They both travelled to Queensland from Melbourne, and both spent a large part of the journey on the ocean, travelling by steamer, First Class. These voyages are well documented, and prove beyond doubt that Waltzing Matilda could not have been written any earlier than August 1895, almost a year after the burning of the Dagworth woolshed. Furthermore, while Paterson’s travelling arrangements cannot be proven, his various sporting and social activities in Sydney most definitely can, and it turns out they line up perfectly with the movements of McPherson and Riley!
This is an extremely dense and well-researched book. There is a very large cast of characters. I read it quickly and in a somewhat feverish state of mind, as I quickly realised what a gem it was, and don’t pretend to have fully comprehended or integrated all the information it contains.
It is very clear to me, however, that Waltzing Matilda was written some months later than many would like to believe. I also think Lindner has done a very good job of demonstrating just how unlikely it is that Paterson based the words on the death of Hoffmeister. Importantly, a detailed analysis of the inquest into the death of Samuel Hoffmeister fails to make any link whatsoever with the squatter Bob McPherson, brother of Christina, and manager – with his three brothers – of Dagworth station. I can see that those events may well have fed into the lyrics, but only in a very general sense, and certainly not in the strictly literal sense that some would like to believe. (Lindner makes specific reference to Richard Magoffin and Dennis O’Keeffe in this respect.)
Lindner also makes it clear that Waltzing Matilda was almost certainly written at more than one location – possibly as many as three or four – with McPherson playing an autoharp initially, and then moving to a piano when one became available.
Lindner also points out that the evidence he has discovered means that the first public performance of the song could not have taken place in April 1895 at the North Gregory Hotel, as has been believed by many up until now, because it had not yet been written.
There are passages which could have benefitted from further editing. The text contains minor grammatical errors at times, and there is some repetition that could have been tidied up, but these are minor quibbles.
Lindner is a criminal lawyer, and calls his book a ‘forensic history’. It didn’t necessarily need a lawyer to write this book, but his methodical, persistent, extremely detailed, dispassionate approach is well suited to the task. He does concede that Trove, that invaluable National Library resource that contains so many early newspapers in digitised form, was not available to earlier researchers.
I would strongly recommend this book to anybody who is interested in the history of Australia’s unofficial national anthem, ‘Waltzing Matilda.’
The Toolangi C.J. Dennis Poetry Festival is over for another year, and what a festival it was this time!
It was undoubtedly the biggest and the best we have had yet, as indeed it should have been celebrating, as it was, the centenary of the publication in 1915 of “The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke”.
The festival got a great boost about a week out with the news that The C.J. Dennis Society’s Patron, Ted Egan, would be in attendance. Ted lives in Alice Springs, so it is a long journey for him to come to Victoria. Ted has only been to the festival once before, and that was back in 2013.
The weather was kind to us – as it always seems to be – and Ted opened the festival for us in fine style. What is more, he sang his tribute to Australia’s pioneering women to the assembled throng, as an added bonus. He had to get by without his famed beer carton, but a small book served almost as well to tap the rhythm out to.
David Hill from the Bendigo Community Bank (Healesville Branch) was also in attendance. The Bendigo Bank has been our chief sponsor over the years, and this year they agreed to double their commitment. Rather than present the prizes for “Adults Writing for Children” himself, David placed a small toy under one of the chairs, with the person who first found the toy to present the prizes. This led to the somewhat unexpected outcome of Jemima Hosking presenting a prize to her mother, Jackie! (Jackie’s father, John, also performed a poem later in the day, so we had three generations of the Hosking family involved in the festival!)
The local member of Parliament, Cindy McLeish MP (Member for Eildon), also kindly offered to attend the festival and award prizes. Cindy’s support of the festival is longstanding, and very much appreciated.
The number of entries was down a little on last year, which is a bit concerning, but everybody agreed nonetheless that the standard was very high. Not all the poems that received awards were heard this year, but all the winning poets who were in attendance performed their poems, and First Prize in each category was read out whether the poet was present or not.
Here is Ted Egan opening the festival. (Thank you to Nerys Evans for the photo.)
After a break for afternoon tea, we commenced an “Open Mike” session which proved extremely popular. Indeed, not all the poets who wished to perform were able to do so, as it would have left insufficient time for the showcase concert of C.J. Dennis poems and songs that was scheduled to follow. This also needed to be shortened a little because of time constraints.
The concert kicked off with actor John Flaus from Castlemaine. The other performers were Maggie Somerville, Jim Haynes, Jim Brown, Ruth Aldridge, David Campbell and Geoffrey W. Graham.
Here is Maggie Somerville singing a C.J. Dennis poem that she has put to music.
Towards the end of the afternoon, the sun went down and a chill crept over the proceedings. The original plan had been to hold the evening’s entertainment in the marquee also, but it was generally agreed that it made much more sense to retire to the tea rooms, where a lavish buffet dinner was now waiting.
The evening meal was truly delicious, with a large range of choices on offer.
We then commenced our special presentation of “The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke”, featuring Geoffrey Graham as performer of the poems, Jim Haynes as “slang interpreter”, and myself as narrator. I suddenly found my voice failing me, and Geoffrey was looking very much the worse for wear having been badly dumped by a wave while body surfing in Hawaii two days earlier, but the show went on nonetheless, and was very well received. (About half the audience gave us a standing ovation; Geoffrey assured me the other half would have done so also, if they had not been so tired!)
Here we are – from left to right, Jim, Geoffrey and me – looking relieved but happy after the show! (Thanks to Maggie Somerville for the photo.)
The Poets’ Breakfast kicked off right on schedule the following morning at 9.30.
Here is Ruth Aldridge reciting “Caravanning Bliss” by Bob Magor.
Shelley and Rod Hansen provided a great double act.
Jan Williams gave us a poem, but unfortunately I cannot show you a photo because my computer refuses to upload it!
The audience was large and appreciative.
We then moved back down to the marquee for the launch at 11am of the CD Maggie and I had put together, “The Two Bees”.
We were joined by three musicians – Hugh McDonald (ex-Redgum), who had recorded and produced the album for us, and Trevor Voake (mandolin) and Dieter Imberger (harmonica), friends from the Victorian Folk Music Club. (Trevor’s wife Margaret kindly acted as photographer for us.)
We performed “The Two Bees” in its entirety – eight songs and four poems, words by C.J. Dennis, music by Maggie. We did make lots of mistakes, but they were mostly small, and we all had great fun. The audience seemed to enjoy it all, too.
Here is the band line-up – from left to right, Trevor, Dieter, Maggie, me and Hugh.
Here is Maggie demonstrating the title of the poem “How to Hold a Husband”.
Hugh seemed to enjoy himself.
Then it was time for lunch. Jim Brown and David Campbell did a great job entertaining patrons in the tea rooms over the lunch break.
The traditional “moving theatre” followed, with some new faces this year – Geoffrey W. Graham as Banjo Paterson, Jim Haynes as Henry Lawson, and John Derum as the “one and only” C.J. Dennis.
A recent tradition during the moving theatre has been for some of the local children to perform a ballet to music inspired by the poetry of C.J. Dennis. (Local parent and retired dancer Cathy Phelan designs the costumes and choreographs the dancing.)
In past years, the children have danced to recorded music. This year was different. Maggie Somerville had written music to C.J. Dennis’ poem “The Satin Bower Bird” (from “The Singing Garden”), and recorded it on CD for the children to rehearse to.
Here is the audience enjoying Maggie and the children’s performance.
We next moved to the top of the gardens, where the poets were joined by Dorothea Mackellar (Ruth Aldridge).
It was then back down to the marquee to finish the show.
Afternoon tea was held in the tea rooms, then back again to the marquee for one last time to watch the festival end in the traditional way – with Jim Brown’s rendition of C.J. Dennis’ magical poem, “Dusk”.
Some festival attendees missed Jim’s performance, so he agreed to perform it a second time.
I made a video of Jim’s second performance, which can be found here:
So ended what had been a wonderful festival.
There are too many people to thank properly, but special gratitude and appreciation must be given to the Bendigo Community Bank (Healesville Branch) for their continued generous sponsorship, to Vic and Jan Williams, owners of “The Singing Gardens” (and their family), for their tireless work maintaining the gardens and helping to organise the festival, and to our illustrious Secretary Jim Brown for all his hard work.
We hope to see you at next year’s festival, when we will be celebrating the centenary of the publication in 1916 of “The Moods of Ginger Mick”!
I will add one last photo – C.J. Dennis (John Derum) addressing the throng, with the famed copper beech tree in the background and cloudless blue skies above. Could anything be better?